


The Wild Runs in Me

by Bennyhatter



Series: Wild Soul [1]
Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: A bit of cumplay, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Rick's got a filthy mouth, Canonical Character Death, Carl is too, Daryl Needs a Hug, Daryl is a mess of emotions, Daryl's a filthy motherfucker, Dirty Talk, F/M, Guys I wrote a werewolf story, Human Alpha Rick, M/M, Male Pregnancy, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rick is a BAMF, Self-Lubrication, Shane's a fucking asshole, So together they're just one big filthy ball of hotness, Submissive Wolf Daryl, TW: Past Abuse, begging kink, biting kink, but what else is new, scarred character, tattooed character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 106,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl has always thought of the Wild blood in him as a curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You guys I've been itching to write something with werewolf!Daryl in it, you don't even know. I had something completely different in mind, setting-wise, and then I opened up a document and my brain went 'LET'S GO BACK TO SEASON ONE'. So now I'm trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to structure the next chapters setting-wise until I'm at least at the prison with them.
> 
> This show, you guys. This fucking show.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Walking Dead, it's characters, or anything affiliated with it. I'm just borrowing these guys.

It’s hard to keep a secret from people when you’re all basically living on top of each other. It’s damn near impossible to feel like you have any kind of privacy when you can hear the guy four tents down rubbing one out, or when you can hear the broken lady and her little girl getting hit every night from across the camp. Everyone always wants to know where you’re going, when you’ll be back, and Daryl wants to tell them—frequently does, in fact—that it’s none of their damn business where he goes or what he does. He always brings back meat anyway, because none of these survivors—and ain’t that a laugh right there, calling themselves _survivors_ —can hunt worth a damn, so no one really gets too bent out of shape when he slips away.

Well, maybe Shane does, but that guy’s an asshole, and just being near him puts Daryl’s hackles up in the worst way. He ignores the cop, for the most part, unless he can’t, and then usually they posture and talk over one another until Daryl snaps some insult that shuts the guy up tighter than an oil drum and stalks off.

Merle thinks it’s hilarious that some weak, _human_ man thinks he can tell them what to do, but even his brother recognizes safety in numbers despite how often they relied on only themselves before the dead started walking, so he tells Daryl to play nice while doing no such thing himself. They prowl the outskirts of the camp, ignoring the looks and whispers with practiced ease. He finds it disgustingly ironic that Merle and he are the ones keeping these people fed meat-wise most days, and yet they still think themselves above the Dixon boys.

What would they do, if they knew? How would they react if they found out that Merle is an alpha in every sense of the word? That Daryl doesn’t just hunt when he runs into the woods for days with nothing but his crossbow and the burning itch under his skin to strip away every layer of humanity and sink into his Wild self, an apex predator they can’t hope to match. How would they react if they knew how strongly the desire to sing to the moon when She hangs fat and heavy in the night sky runs through the brothers?

Their Daddy always called their Wild blood a curse. It was the only thing Daryl ever agreed with him on, though he never said as much out loud. Every Dixon boy is born with the Wild in them, and he’s heard about one or two of the women having it too, but he never knew for certain. It’s their curse, traced back through the generations all the way back to the first Dixon.

Good folk see them as redneck trash that hangs on the edge of society, too violent and removed to ever fit in. They’re too feral, too unpredictable, too bound for darkness and only headed one way. _The only good Dixon is a dead Dixon_ ; he’d heard someone say once.

Merle’s an alpha, but he ain’t a good one—too much of their Daddy in him, even if he refuses to admit it. Daryl isn’t an alpha, but it’s difficult to say what he could be, because he’s never tried to be anything but Not Their Daddy, even if it means him slinking along behind his big brother; caught in his shadow, doing what Merle says, saying what Merle tells him to say, and ignoring what people think of him because they can never understand.

When Merle leaves on the run, Daryl spends hours pacing along the bank of the quarry lake, his eyes roving over the sheer cliff faces and his nostrils flaring to try and catch any faint wisp of his brother’s scent that he can. He never does well without Merle—maybe it’s a pack thing, maybe it’s just how he is. He needs to follow, and to do that, he needs someone to lead. And now Merle isn’t here to do that, and he can already feel his muscles winding tight. Some of his agitation is because he’s worried, but he’ll never say that out loud. It’s just a run, and Merle is more than capable of taking care of himself, but Atlanta is full of walkers, and the humans his brother went with care too little for the Dixons. Normally that wouldn’t matter, but this time his instincts are telling him that it’s going to matter a hell of a lot.

When Shane finally swaggers up to him, cocky and smirking, Daryl’s had enough of wearing a trench into the rocky soil. Before the cop can even open his mouth, he shoves past him and stalks toward the tent he shares with Merle.

“Goin’ on a hunt,” he throws over his shoulder, his words edged in steel and his eyes dark with challenge as he dares the man to try and tell him otherwise. He wants to, Daryl can see it, but Shane’s a red-blooded American male who enjoys his red meat and women a little too enthusiastically, and the prospect of one of those is too much for him to resist.

“You don’t do anything stupid, and you come back by dusk,” he says. Daryl snorts.

“I come back when I come back. Ain’t gonna feed y’all proper with just a few bunnies an’ squirrels.”

“Fine.” Shane looks like he wants to say more, but Daryl’s never had much patience, and his skin feels like it’s crawling, the Wild trying to push through. Without waiting, he spins on his heel and stalks away, grabbing his crossbow and getting the hell out of camp before anyone can try to stop him.

Once he’s in the woods, the tension in his shoulders eases and he breathes in deeply, the collective scents of Georgia more like home to him than anything else but Merle. And sometimes not even his brother. He shoulders his crossbow and walks, his feet silent and his muscles fluid. He passes chattering squirrels and bolting rabbits without a second glance. There’s something else he has to do first.

When he’s far enough away that he can’t hear the camp and he knows they can’t see him, Daryl sets down his crossbow, leaning it carefully against the sturdy trunk of a nearby tree. He strips quickly then, tossing his clothes aside with a lot less care than he’d shown for his weapon. Naked but for his scars and ink, his skin twitching sporadically in anticipation, Daryl closes his eyes, opens his mind, and lets the Wild flood in.

Shifting hurts. It feels like his skin is burning as fur pushes through; bones breaking and reforming, his spine lengthening; his teeth aching as they thicken and grow. It’s a blink-and-it’s-over pain, though, and a few seconds after letting it free Daryl shakes out his fur with a quiet whine, his ears laying flat briefly before they swivel forward again. The hurts fade like they were never there, and the world around him opens in a way it never can when he’s hunkered down in his human skin. Everything is sharper, everything he sees so much more detailed now than his human eyes could ever hope to match.

Lifting his head, he snuffles wetly and wags his tail. He can’t smell any walkers nearby, so he puts his head back down, rumbles quietly, and _runs_. He has no set direction in mind but Not Camp, so he crisscrosses all over the rest of the forest, always aware enough to stay far away from Dale and his binoculars.

He kills a few rabbits to sate his hunger, but other than that he runs until his sides heave and his tongue is lolling from the side of his mouth, letting his Wild blood course through him unfiltered and feeling freer than he ever has while caged in his human skin. He stops at a winding creek and wades in until all four paws are covered, the water crisp and refreshing; the sediment cold but comforting.

Before he drinks, he takes a moment to look at himself like this, cocking his head to the side and watching how his ears shift and twitch at every sound of life in the forest around him.

Wolves are native to America, and coyotes roam everywhere, but Daryl knows there are no wolves the size of Kodiak bears anywhere in the world. If someone ever did find him, there’s no way he could come across as anything natural. He’s too big, and there’s too much intelligence in his golden eyes.

Looking at himself, he angles his head to see his long, slender muzzle and the splotch of dark fur that surrounds his right eye. He looks like someone punched him. Merle picks on him all the time for it, calls him _Spot_ , and Daryl’s bitten him more than once for it. He ain’t a damn family dog. He’s Wild, his chest deep and his shoulders broad. He’s long and lean, his fur shaggy and thick; gray so pale he’s almost white except for the patch over his eye.

Merle’s even bigger than he is as a wolf, slate gray and mean as hell—his temper easier to trigger in his Wild fur than his human flesh. He’s everything Daryl thinks a wolf should look like—broad, built, lethal. Daryl’s just as lethal, but he’s not built for violence, not like Merle. He’s always been the faster one, the better hunter. Relentless in the chase and the take-down, but always deferring to Merle, backing off to let his brother eat first because Merle’s an alpha and Daryl’s… not.

After he drinks his fill, he returns to the spot he’d left his stuff and shakes the Wild from his bones reluctantly, tucking it all away and dragging his human confines back into place. After lacing up his boots, he grabs his crossbow and turns back toward camp after glancing skyward to check the sun. He’s lost a few hours to his Wild mind, dusk starting to brush across the cloudless blue. Smirking, he tilts his chin up and arches an eyebrow, remembering Shane’s expression and his weak order. Then he sobers himself and turns his attention to the tracks around him.

Maybe, if he’s lucky, he can find a deer. It’s been a while since he’s had venison. Licking his lips, he inhales and begins his hunt.

 

 

 

In hindsight, he knows Merle isn’t there when he steps out of the woods and looks past the weapons aimed his way, seeing his ruined deer and cursing. He can’t smell his brother, not like he should be able to, and that’s part of the reason he’d kicked the walker’s stupid corpse so aggressively—why he’d gotten in Dale’s face and then insulted the people gathered there after shooting the decapitated head that snarled and clacked its filthy teeth.

“It’s gotta be the brain. Don’t y’all know nothing?”

When he hollers for Merle regardless, people already gathering and Shane calling for him to hold up, Daryl tenses every muscle and feels a bit of Wild slip free.

“He dead?” he asks gruffly, trying to mask his growing panic with rough indifference. No, no, not Merle. Not his brother. How the fuck is he supposed to keep it together without his alpha to ground him? Even when Merle was in prison he was a constant presence on the edge of Daryl’s awareness. Now he’s not here and everyone is staring at him, judging and looking on with false pity because none of them give a fuck. They don’t care that his world is fracturing, the splinters cutting his control to ribbons. They’re just glad to be rid of one Dixon, and anticipating when they’ll be done with the next.

“You’re saying you handcuffed my brother to a _roof_? And you **_left him there_**?!”

Rick Grimes ducks easily beneath the string of squirrels Daryl throws at him, and Shane tackles him to the ground before Daryl’s lunge gets him far enough. Snarling, more Wild slipping out than is safe, he kicks himself free and comes up with his knife drawn and ready, his shoulder smarting momentarily from impacting with the hard dirt. Rick and Shane work together like they’ve done it for years, and when Shane’s arm locks around his throat Daryl spits out curses furiously, writhing and clawing to try and get free.

“Chokehold’s illegal!” he barks, scrambling to keep a lid on his dissolving control with teeth and nails and stifle his _painfuryterrorhurt_ as best he can.

“Yeah, well, you can file a complaint,” Shane retorts snidely. Daryl rumbles angrily, thumping a heel against the ground, and then Rick Grimes is in his face and his attention is arrested by eyes that remind him of summer storms, his senses filled with _power_ , and he stops fighting to pant and glare; teeth clenched to swallow his whine when he flares his nostrils to draw in a scent that hits him like a punch to the gut.

_Alpha._

No. No fucking way. Only those with the Wild in their blood can be alphas— _real_ alphas, like Merle; not just posturing wannabes like Shane. Rick is human, there’s not even a hint of Other in his scent, but when he stares at Daryl, when he drops his chin and tilts his head to catch the hunter’s skittering gaze, all he wants to do is bare his throat and _obey_. Not even Merle can get this kind of response from him, and it’s making him hyper aware of every movement the man makes even when he refuses to look up at him, just taking a moment to gather himself and scrambling to gather the frayed remainder of his control.

T-Dog is a welcome distraction when he steps forward and admits he dropped the key to the cuffs. God, his brother is handcuffed to a fucking roof in the middle of a city full of walkers. There’s some kind of irony in that, he just knows it.

“What, you couldn’t fuckin’ pick it up?” he growls. T-Dog grits his teeth, reeking of nervous sweat and remorse, and also the bitter tang of fear—like he’s waiting for Daryl to come after him with his knife like he did Rick.

“I dropped it down a drain,” the man grinds out, unable to fully meet his gaze.

Of fucking course. Daryl shoves himself to his feet.

“To hell with all y’all!” Throwing his arm out at the assembled group, he turns his back on them and starts to stalk away. He swings back around and locks eyes with T-Dog again. “Tell me where he is,” he demands, trying to keep his voice from shaking too much and not really succeeding in muting his distress. “So’s I can go get him.”

Fuck these people. He’s getting Merle and then they’re _gone_. They should never have joined this group, no matter what their intentions may have been at the time. Daryl just wants it to be them again, just him and his big brother against the world, same as it was before.

“He’ll show you.”

For a moment, he’s not sure who just said that. Then he glances at Lori and blinks, startled, because out of everyone he’s talked to, even if it was just one word, he’s not sure if he’s ever even so much as grunted in her direction. So for her to talk to him now is surprising, and he tries to fight through his growing franticness in order to pay attention to what he’s hearing.

What _is_ he hearing?

And then Rick steps up, so to speak, and agrees to take him to Merle. _T-Dog_ offers to come along, clearly trying to make things right, and then suddenly the _Asian_ guy—Glenn?—is coming with them, and Daryl stares at the three of them blankly before his mind catches up with his ears.

He looks at Rick, evaluating what he can see and trying to compare it with what he smells. There’s the faint smells of blood, both his own and walkers, and the shirt the man is wearing hangs off of him in a way that speaks to malnutrition or sickness, but his gaze is strong and his tone is final. He stands tall, like an alpha should, and the air around him crackles with purpose, like the atmosphere is responding to the man’s power in a tangible way that makes everyone around him defer to him, their subconscious minds recognizing the pure alpha in their midst even if they don’t realize it.

Daryl realizes it, though, and he stomps down another whine as he nods jerkily before hightailing it away from Rick Grimes to ready his crossbow. He _needs_ to find his brother, because without Merle to keep him grounded he’s going to have a harder time keeping the wolf at bay. That’s part of the curse of his Wild blood. He _needs_ a pack, because otherwise he’s more likely to turn feral. It happened to him before, the first time Merle went to prison. Daryl spent two weeks in the forest, running up and down the hills night and day as a wolf until he finally collapsed from exhaustion and worked through his turbulent thoughts. When he came back to himself enough to drag his ass home, his Daddy had been livid, and a good deal of the scars across his shoulders are a result of that particular punishment.

So Daryl cleans and checks his bolts, and snaps at Shane for insulting Merle when his brother isn’t there to defend himself.

“You’d best choose your words more carefully.”

“No, I did, douchebag’s what I meant.” Shane looks wide-eyed and innocent, like he can’t understand why Daryl is reacting so negatively. It’s infuriating, so he grabs his bow and his bolts and stalks to the new truck the group—sans Merle, those fucking assholes—had returned with. He hauls himself up into it and sits down to wait, but the others don’t seem to understand what the hurry is, and Daryl’s severely lacking in patience at the moment, so he grinds his heel into the horn until he gets the response he’s looking for. Rick looks annoyed, although most of that is probably because of his little tiff with Shane. Now there’s _two_ cops in camp, which is just more reason to get the hell out of Dodge once he’s found Merle. Two cops and two rednecks, one of whom is a drug-addicted asshole, does not make for a good combination.

“He’d better be okay,” he threatens, staring hard at T-Dog. “That’s my only word on the matter.”

T-Dog’s reply screams more desperation than it does confidence, but it’s clear to Daryl at least that the man really is hoping that they find Merle alive. Whether that’s because he knows he’s going to die if the alternative turns out to be true, or whatever it is, it still surprises him and makes him narrow his eyes at the black man, his thoughts churning.

Faster than he’d anticipated, Glenn’s bringing the van to a stop and they’re all climbing out. Daryl’s nerves are singing, wire-tight and ready to snap. Somewhere in the swamp of rot and coagulated blood stinging his nose and making his eyes water, his brother is trapped and alone. Raising his crossbow, Daryl drops back from his position in front of the group and lets Rick brush by him, sticking close to the cop and keeping himself alert. He glances at the Chinaman and nods in silent thanks for agreeing to get Merle before the bag of weapons he’d heard Rick talking to Shane about. Fuck if he cares about guns right now, though. Fuck if he cares about _anything_ but getting to Merle before he can’t hold the wolf back any longer. Glenn looks downright shocked at the acknowledgement, and Daryl can’t blame him for that, really, considering how all of their interactions have gone until now.

The further into Atlanta they get, the more Daryl starts to notice just how in-tune he is with the cop. All Rick has to do is glance at him and tilt his head just a fraction and Daryl reacts, crossbow raised to take out any walker that gets too close before T-Dog and Glenn have even realized there’s one there. Rick sees every single one of them, though, his eyes sharp and his senses on high alert. By the time they reach the store, he’s loping just behind and slightly off-center of Rick, attuned to every minute twitch of muscles under his uniform, every glance and gesture and silent conversation. When Rick points out the single walker amongst the clothing racks, Daryl slinks in and kills it without missing a beat, though he can’t help but throw an insult out into the stale, hot air before he pulls the trigger.

“Damn, you are one ugly skank.”

And then they’re at the stairwell, and Daryl forgets about being too quiet as they thunder up flight after flight until they reach the roof. As soon as the chain’s out of his way he bursts through the door, spilling out into the searing Georgia air again and shouting for his brother. He’s barely two steps out into the sun again when he sees it, _smells_ it, and then the others catch up and stare at the blood and Merle’s _severed hand_ as the last shred of his psyche snaps and Daryl throws his head back to howl his anguish to the sky.

“ ** _NO!_** ”

 

 

 

Rick Grimes is the only reason T-Dog is still breathing. He’s the only reason Daryl didn’t submit to his Wild blood and let the wolf come tearing free; the only thing keeping the threat of Daryl’s rabidity from becoming a reality. How the hell the cop, a _human_ , is able to do such things is beyond him, but he’ll be the first to admit he doesn’t know half of what he should about the Wild blood that sings through him. It just is what it is. It’s a part of him, so he lives with it the best he can and doesn’t really care to learn the deeper logistics of his curse aside from what he gains from it or what some of the possible cons could be.

Rick keeps him calm, though, and follows his lead as he catches Merle’s trail and tracks his brother’s movements. Glenn had looked horrified and sick when he’d wrapped the hand and shoved it into his backpack, but Daryl’s too focused to care much at the moment. What little attention isn’t on finding his brother is replaying Rick raising his gun to Daryl, the click of the hammer as he readied it for a possible outcome that had faded to something inconsequential when Daryl had looked at him and seen his desire to do what he believed was right shadowed by his unease at the thought of killing anyone, killing _Daryl_ , who’s just a no-good backwoods Georgia hick with no one who will care or mourn when he’s gone. No interaction between them has been good so far, and yet Rick’s eyes belied the things his mouth said. His scent betrayed him over _I won’t hesitate_.

So Daryl had submitted and lowered his weapon, and now he’s staring at the seared flesh he knows is Merle’s, his nose filled with the rank stench of blood and decay and cooked meat, all of it mixing in with the horrible scent of whatever he’d used to light the fires he’d heated the press up with.

“Nobody can kill Merle but Merle,” he tells them. Rick looks annoyed and impressed in one, at least until Daryl steps up to the broken window and looks down at the blood-soaked towels, and beyond them the streets filled with walkers. The only thing he can think is that Merle had shifted as soon as he was free from the building, letting his wolf’s accelerated healing factor and higher tolerance for pain take over as he went looking for more secure shelter. It’s what Daryl would have done, too, and he knows he can pick up his brother’s trail once he’s outside.

When he says as much, his temper flares at the reaction he receives. Rick agreed to come all this way, to help him, and now he’s saying no? Daryl’s furious, and when the man puts a hand out to grip his shoulder, he jerks himself back and barks out a harsh, “Get yer hands off me!”

Just like every other time, though, Rick catches his gaze and holds him in place, talking low and calm until Daryl’s mind clears enough for him to understand and accept. Having the guns can only help, so he acquiesces with a small nod and a muttered, “I can do that,” and it’s almost worth it for how the cop’s blue eyes light up, how he smiles and relaxes and nods in a way that makes the dismal light catch in his brunette hair and enhance the strong line of his jaw.

 _Fuck_. Rather than focusing on that, Daryl hangs back and watches through narrowed, surprised eyes as Glenn draws their plan onto the floor and walks them through it. He’s more animated now than he can ever remember seeing the Asian being before, and he seems to know exactly what he’s doing.

“The hell did you say you did ‘fore all this?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

“Delivered pizzas,” Glenn replies, blinking before he frowns. “Why?”

Daryl stares. Rick does too.

 

 

 

“You have gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Daryl growls, shouldering his crossbow and throwing his hands up in disgust before they all start running. Hispanic thugs guarding a _nursing home_ , and now Merle’s made off with their van. He wasn’t lying when he said his brother was gonna be taking his vendetta back to camp, but he also thinks that part of the reason Merle would be heading back to the quarry would be to grab him. No matter how mad they get at one another, they’re still brothers, and even injured and probably in a world of hurt, Merle wouldn’t leave him behind. He just wouldn’t.

There’s no time to talk once they’re running. Daryl’s skin is crawling again, the Wild blood in him pushing to be let free, pushing him to rip out of his human skin and run as the wolf. He fights it with everything he has, hanging on to his humanity by tooth and nail, because accepting that part of him right now will just end with him dying, and if he can hold on long enough to get back to Merle, then he’ll be okay.

Thankfully their camp isn’t that far outside of Atlanta, but none of them know how much of a head start Merle has, and darkness is quickly falling. Glenn and T-Dog are struggling to keep up, T-Dog more so, but Rick is keeping pace with Daryl surprisingly well. Then again, if he wasn’t holding himself back right now, he’d be far ahead of the other three.

He hears the screams before they do, and by the time they crest the rise the camp is in a state of total panic. There are walkers everywhere, people fighting the dead as best they can, but there are only so many guns right now, and more people than firearms. At least, there were. Accepting the rifle Rick shoves his way, Daryl starts systematically killing every walker he can find, desperately searching the faces to see if he can find his brother. He has no clue how long the walkers have been overrunning the camp, or where they’d even come from, but they cannot be allowed to keep going.

Over the gunfire, Daryl hears Rick shouting for his son. Face grim, he drops his rifle as soon as he runs out of ammo and starts stabbing anything that comes his way with the intention of ripping the flesh from his bones. He wants to shift, wants to raze these undead bastards to the ground, so he grits his teeth until they ache and he tastes blood, not stopping until the only sounds that fill the air are the lapping of the water in the quarry and the tense sounds of panicked but alive people.

Merle isn’t here. A quick inhale and a glance around tells him all that he needs to know, because if his brother was amongst the tangled corpses or the survivors, his scent would be unmistakable. Panic bubbles up in his chest again, creeping up his throat. He swallows repeatedly, like that will help, and walks in tight circles that slowly take him closer and closer to Dale’s RV. The words repeat on a loop in his mind, an endless record of _he’s not here he’s not here he’s not here he’s not here_ until his palms are bleeding from how deeply he’s dug his nails into them.

Coming around the side of the Winnebago, he stops when he sees Andrea kneeling at her sister’s side. He watches from the shadows as she sobs and strokes Amy’s hair back from her face, her sister’s throat a mess of blood and torn flesh. She’s been bitten, which means she’s going to die, and then she’s going to open her eyes again some unknown amount of time later and she’ll be a walker. Everything that Amy was will be gone, and she’ll go after all of them, so _why isn’t Andrea killing her_?

 

 

 

 

Daryl stalks away from all of them after they find out about Jim, too furious to stay within sight. All of them are fucking useless, too reliant on holding onto how things _were_ to fully accept how they _are_. If they keep it up, not a one of them is gonna live to see the end of the year. What the fuck does he care, though. Let them get themselves killed. They didn’t care enough to save Merle, so why should he try to save them?

Fuming, he tears off into the woods and rips his clothes from his body as soon as he’s far enough away. He’s left his crossbow behind, but he was too blinded by his rage to grab it, and after a minute it’s not going to matter anyway. Steeling himself, he throws open his link to his Wild blood and dives in, not even registering the pain of the shift and barely waiting for the last changes before he’s flat-out running as fast as he can. The landscape blurs around him, nothing but the heavy impact of his paws against the earth giving him anything to focus on. His mind is too far gone right now; the feral fire he remembers even after so many years growing to a raging inferno. Shifting was probably the straw the broke the camel’s back, as it were, but Daryl doesn’t know what else to do. Without Merle, without his alpha big brother, he can’t cope. He doesn’t know _how_ to cope.

By the time he stops running, his sides are wet with foam he hadn’t even noticed was flying from his lips and his paws hurt from the rocks he’d run over at some point, which had cut up his pads enough that he can smell the blood underneath the layers of dirt he’s ground into the lacerations. Whining, he hangs his head and limps to the stream he’d found before, wading in and flinching at the cold burn of the water. He stays despite the pain—hell, he’s so used to pain by now that he might as well call it his friend—and stares down at his distorted reflection, alone and lost in his own mind until the snap of a branch breaking jolts him back to awareness.

Jerking his head up, Daryl stares at Dale, who is looking right back at him. Only the slight widening of his eyes and the spike of surprise-scent gives away the older man’s feelings, but just as quick as the surprise came, it’s gone, and he’s letting out a quiet ‘ _huh_ ’ as he reaches up to fix his hat.

“Well now,” he murmurs, taking a step forward only to back right up again when Daryl growls in warning. Holding his hands up, he smiles and shakes his head. “Easy, Daryl, I’m not gonna hurt you. I just came to make sure you were all right. I guess you’re not, though.”

 _He knows_. Ears flicking forward, he huffs and cocks his head to the side; dips his head and whines in confusion as he gives in a little to his restlessness and starts to pace. Dale watches him, unslinging his gun slowly and setting it to the side before he sits cross-legged and rests his hands on his knees.

“I’ve run into one or two of your kind before,” Dale explains. Daryl eyes him suspiciously. “I’ve gotta say, you and Merle are really, really good at hiding most of your true nature, but there are still facets that slip through. I understand that you’re having a rough time right now. Believe me, I do. But it’s not safe for any of us to be out on our own. Come back to camp, Daryl, please.”

Shifting back to human, Daryl hunkers down in the cold water and glares, not giving a single fuck about the fact that he’s naked. “The fuck you mean, you’ve seen my kind before?” he growls.

“Do you really think you and Merle are the only ones in the world like this?” The old man actually chuckles, although his humor fades quickly when he catches the expression on Daryl’s face. “There are more out there like you, Daryl. Your kind is very, very rare, but there _are_ others.”

“First I’m hearin’ of it.” Giving in and wading out onto the bank, he strides past Dale and hears the old man pick himself up and follow after grabbing his gun. “Never heard a single thing about there bein’ others. Was always just my Daddy ‘n Merle ‘n me. Never knew of no others with the Wild in their blood.”

“Is that what you call it?”

Rather than replying right away, he focuses on finding his clothes and getting dressed. His feet are still wet, which is a bitch, because he _hates_ damp socks, but he yanks them on and shoves his feet into his boots anyway, lacing them up with quick, rough movements; all the while painfully aware of Dale standing behind him, his back fully exposed until he stands and drags his shirt over his head and down his body to cover them up. Glaring over his shoulder, he hisses, “You don’t fuckin’ tell a soul.”

“Swear on my life,” Dale agrees, looking as sad as he smells. “Come on, Daryl, let’s go. I don’t want to leave Andrea for too long, and I think Rick was looking for you. I don’t think Jim has much time left, either.”

Scoffing, he follows his own tracks back toward the group. “Ain’t my fault if they fuckin’ kill someone. Done told y’all what you should do. Got me nothin’ but a gun to my head _again_.”

Rick had drawn on him a second time, after he’d tried to take care of business before it was too late. He doesn’t understand their collective desire to let someone suffer like that, but it’s happened again and again and again. Now they’ve got two time bombs just waiting to blow, and no one seems to see a problem with it.

“We don’t kill people!” Dale protests, backing up quickly when Daryl whirls around and gets in his face.

“They ain’t gonna be people anymore!” he snarls, giving into the urge and baring his teeth, feeling them ache and shift in his mouth as his emotions boil over again. “They’re fuckin’ dead, you stupid old man. You can’t save ‘em. You’re just lettin’ ‘em suffer, and for what? So y’all can tell yourselves you _tried_? Waste of time, if you ask me. But who the fuck wants some no-good redneck trash _Dixon’s_ opinion?” Stepping back, he shakes his head and turns around again, breathing heavily through his nose. “Nah, y’all made your choice. You’ll see. Or you won’t. Whichever one you choose’ll be the one to determine your fate. Better choose wisely.”

 

 

 

In the end, Andrea kills Amy and they leave Jim on the side of the road with a gun. Daryl nods to the man, the only way he can think to say goodbye, because he doesn’t know what the hell he’d say if he actually had to come up with words. He watches Rick the whole time, watches something bloom to life as they walk away from a man who died the second he got bitten, and the Wild part of him relaxes with a contented rumble, his mind breathing _Alpha_ as he stares at the cop. He’s not Merle, he’ll never be Merle, but his brother wasn’t a good alpha anyway. He was just all Daryl knew after twenty-seven years of having nothing else. As he heads back toward his truck, watching Rick climb back into his own car, their gazes lock for a moment before Daryl lowers his, submitting visibly and rolling his head to the side just enough to bare his throat. When he flicks his eyes back to Rick, the man is still watching him. When he knows Daryl’s looking, he nods once and then turns away. Chances are high that he has no idea what he’s just agreed to, not fully, but he knows enough. He knows that Daryl will follow his lead over Shane’s, that he’ll back Rick up from here on out the same way he had in Atlanta. And for now, that’s all he needs to know.

_CDC, here we come._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, it's season two with a twist.

“Listen to me, Olive Oyl,” Daryl spits, already pacing away. When he turns back to glare at Lori, bringing his knife up to gesture, she stares at him with badly-masked nervousness, reeking of it in a way that is impossible to ignore. _Good, let her be afraid_ , he thinks savagely. “I was out there lookin’ for that little girl every single day. I took a _bullet_ and an _arrow_ in the process, so don’t you fuckin’ tell me I ain’t been gettin' my hands dirty!”

They stare at each other, Daryl on edge as the Wild burns in his blood, sorrow over the loss of Carol’s cub making him want to howl his misery to the moon but unable to. Discovering that Sophia was dead the whole time was the worst kind of realization for all of them. Carl is still recovering from being shot, Rick and Shane are circling one another now, and Daryl knows that something, somewhere, is gonna give. He’s just not sure when that’ll be—when Shane will make his move, or how Rick will react, though he knows he’ll back Rick up in whatever way he needs. It’s engrained into his psyche, now— _defend your alpha at all costs_. Even though his alpha isn’t Merle, even though he hasn't seen hide nor hair of any trace of his brother, but without his presence casting a shadow over Daryl, something he’d never thought to expect has happened. These people, this group, they’ve started to include him more, started to rely on him and accept his thoughts on things, especially Rick, and Daryl doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

When Sophia went missing, he thought he’d finally found the one thing he could do, using his superior senses to track her down and bring the frightened little cub home to her devastated mother. But he’d failed.

“You want those two idiots? Have a nice ride.” He motions sharply with the arrow he’d been working on before Lori had come waltzing out to find him, thinking that she could order him around just because he follows Rick. “I’m done lookin’ for people.” With that, he throws himself back down again, carving at the tip with quick, sharp flicks of his knife and refusing to look at the woman until she smells of resignation and starts to leave. “Oh,” he adds, looking up, and when she looks over her shoulder at him, he sneers. “Nice job playin’ the dotin’ wife now, considerin’ we all know that baby ain’t his.”

Fear floods Lori’s face, the bitter stench of it filling the air, and she turns back around. “How the hell do you know about that?” she hisses, storming back and getting right up in his face the best she can.

Daryl arches an eyebrow at her, unimpressed by her weak display. “What, you think we’re stupid or somethin’?” Scoffing, he looks back down at the arrow, shaving off another piece and tapping a finger against the pointed tip to check the sharpness. “Whole damn camp heard you bumpin’ uglies with Shane ‘fore Rick came back. Ain’t that hard to figure out the timeline. You wanna call it Rick’s, you go right ahead, but we all know it ain’t.”

Lori sputters for a few seconds, trying to come up with the best denial she can, but Daryl’s already ignoring her again, more focused on his work and grinding his teeth. He needs to shift and run, soon, or else his brief slip into near-rabidity is going to happen again. Dale found him the last time, but with how he’s willfully sequestered himself from the others, even _Rick_ , he doesn’t think he’ll get a second break if he loses himself to his Wild blood again so soon.

Dale finds him after sunset, eyeing the few squirrels he’s already strung up. He sees the walker ears and frowns sadly, but the archer is in no mood to deal with anyone’s pity. “You want somethin’, old man?” he growls, and there’s a cruel twist of satisfaction in his chest when Dale jerks in surprise and looks over at where Daryl is sitting amidst the taller grasses, hidden by night and swaying stalks.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he reasons, turning and coming a few steps closer until a soft warning growl lets him know he’s close enough. “Is your head feeling better?”

“Done healed already, you should know that.” Narrowing his eyes, Daryl looks him up and down before snorting and glaring at the treeline in the distance. “There, you checked on me, I’m fine. Get gone, old man. Done fuckin’ helping people who can’t wipe their own asses.”

“No one blames you for Sophia, Daryl.” There’s an earnest hope in the human’s voice, like he thinks him saying that will be enough to assuage the guilt plaguing him. “We all know how much you tried, we really do. _I_ know you’d have brought her home in a second if you’d gotten her trail.”

“That ain’t the fuckin’ point!” Surging to his feet, he starts to pace back and forth, unconsciously growling or whining depending on which thought his frantic mind skips over. Fisting a hand in his dirty blonde hair, he scrapes his nails over his scalp until it burns. “What use is bein’ this way if I can’t even find a lost girl? Whole damn trail reeked of her fear. Should’a led me right to her. So where the fuck did she go?” _How am I supposed to prove my worth to Rick if I can’t even bring back one lost little cub?_

“No one questions how hard you tried, Daryl. No one is disputing your place among us. Please, come back with the rest of us. You need to be with your pack right now.”

“Y’all ain’t my pack,” he shouts, his eyes glittering in the dark. “Ain’t got no fuckin’ pack.”

“Even if you don’t want to admit it, you know we are. You’ve chosen Rick as your alpha. I can see it. Everyone else does too, even if they don’t realize the implications behind it. Without Merle’s influence over you, they’re beginning to see what kind of person you are.”

“Don’t you dare talk ‘bout my fuckin’ brother.” Surging forward, he backs Dale up bodily until the man is at the edge of his camp, and then a couple of steps more. “You wanna preach about acceptance and sticking together, you best be getting on over to Shane and tellin’ him to back the fuck off’a Rick. Best do some damage control, an’ you know it, or it ain’t gonna end well for anyone.”

“Believe me, I am aware.” Dale looks at him, reaches to put his hand on his shoulder, but Daryl recoils the same way he did when Carol kissed his forehead, growling low at the man and baring his teeth until he relents and turns to leave. “Come back with the rest of us, Daryl. You need us, and we need you.” And then he’s walking away, those final words hanging in the air almost like he’s written them, Daryl staring like he can see the letters in front of his face before he shakes himself out of it and goes to curl up in the grass again.

 

 

 

“Sophia wasn’t mine!”

Fucking Christ, can’t these people just leave him _alone_? Lori, Dale, and now Carol. She’s looking at him, tears in her eyes but otherwise calm, accepting, letting him vent and waiting for him to hit her. That’s the part that pisses him off the most, that she actually thinks he’s going to take out his frustrations on her the way Ed did. Right now, he’s holding onto that anger by the skin of his teeth, because if he stops for even a second, he’s going to lose it. He can feel it already, his Wild blood hot, his wolf howling. He hasn’t let himself shift since the quarry, has kept everything bottled up as he piles more on top. Most of that time, he had Rick to keep him level and grounded. Now he’s stranded, fumbling, and he needs to lean on his alpha but he’s too damn stubborn, too afraid of what he’ll see in Rick’s eyes when he looks at him now.

“All you had to do was keep an eye on her!” he shouts, getting up close, and Carol finally flinches, twitching away the same as he’d done when she’d leaned over comfort him after Andrea had shot him and Hershel had patched him up. That’s what finally does it, and Daryl steps back to stare at her, jaw clenched and lips tight, his eyes glittering. She’s breathing heavily, her eyes wet, and they stare at each other in silence for too long before he finally turns to leave. She tries to call him back, her voice shaking, but Daryl has had enough.

“Leave me alone, woman,” he snarls over his shoulder, and then he keeps walking. He needs the forest, needs the security that comes with nature and not people. Carol doesn’t follow him, but he has a feeling she’s not going to let up on him. Right now, he doesn’t care. He’ll deal with the fallout of that argument later, after he’s wrestled up some more control over his own damn instincts. He’s too far gone, too Wild, to even take off his clothes first, tearing them to ribbons as his body grows and shifts and then kicking the tattered remains of his pants off his hind legs; shaking the scraps of his shirt from his shoulders before he starts to run. Hershel’s farm is bordered by woods he doesn’t know, a whole new territory that leads up into the mountains of Georgia. There’s new prey, new trails, and cattle that belongs to the human and his family. Venison’s better, though, in his opinion, and the first buck he finds, an old veteran with an impressive rack of antlers, becomes his kill. He barely registers the pain of the tine that punctures his shoulder, snarling and feral as he slams into the beast’s side and uses his heavier weight to take it down. He rips its throat out and drinks deeply, swallowing mouthfuls of blood that gushes like a fountain before he buries his muzzle into the carcass and feasts. The sounds attract some walkers, and Daryl falls upon them with just as much ferocity, his eyes black and his muzzle drenched in the lifeblood of the deer as he tears them apart.

It’s just like the mountains after the first time Merle was hauled off to prison. Daryl runs with no direction in mind, slaughtering anything that crosses his path. His human mind is gone, repressed under his Wild instincts. He’s mindless, his thoughts narrowed down to _run, kill, rend_ as he eats up the miles of forest, looping back over his own trails again and again. He gets too close to the highway at one point, smelling asphalt and oil and turning away, but then he hears the roar of an engine and it makes him pause. Turning his head, he flicks his ears forward and listens, growling quietly. If it’s a threat, he’ll deal with it.

The sheer presence of _Alpha_ fills his senses suddenly, headlights broken by the trees blinding him briefly as the car comes around the bend. It’s Rick. Rick’s come back with Glenn and Hershel, but there’s someone else with them too. Cocking his head to the side, the wolf inhales deeply, trying to figure out who, but all he gets is blood and gunpowder. His alpha has come back, and he’s brought an injured stranger with him who reeks of dangerous intent underneath his pain and fear. What he can smell is limited, muted, which means the windows are probably rolled up. He’ll have to go by what he sees this time, so Daryl turns quickly and bolts back toward his camp, his instincts clambering at him to get to his alpha and protect the people Rick considers his, even if Daryl doesn’t feel the same way about them. They’re all connected, as close to family as people in their situation can get, but they’re not Daryl’s pack, not yet.

He’s saturated in blood when he shifts back to human, but he doesn’t plan on getting close enough for anyone to ask about it, so he just drags on a pair of pants and one of his own t-shirts from before everyone started wearing whatever fit despite whoever had worn it before.

Loping across the field, his body lowered to keep him better hidden, Daryl skids to a stop just in time to watch the car come rolling through the gates and up the driveway. Others are already hurrying out to greet them, and Daryl’s sharp eyes catch everything, his ears picking up the conversations with relative ease despite the distance spanning between himself and his alpha. One look at Rick calms him enough to breathe easier, his mind quieting as his Wild blood settles. When the injured man is pulled out of the car, his hackles go up and he growls quietly, beginning to pace back and forth in the shadows. Why would they bring an outsider here? What do they need him for?

The only way he’s going to find out is to actually go and see, so Daryl turns and heads back to his little camp to clean himself up the best he can before he tracks down his alpha. If anyone asks, he’ll just say he was gutting a kill. It’s not like any of them aside from Dale will have a reason to believe otherwise.

 

 

 

Randall is a worthless sack of shit, and Carl is a fucking idiot cub. Or maybe Lori and Rick are to blame for not watching their offspring better, because if they had been, then none of this would have happened. Carl wouldn’t have snuck in to see Randall; wouldn’t have snuck out into the woods _by himself, Jesus fucking Christ_ , and taunted a walker like a damn fool. That walker may have gotten free eventually, but with a scared cub to follow, it had had a reason to come their way, and now Daryl’s dealing with the aftermath, on his knees beside Dale’s body, blood turned black by the moonlight seeping into the denim stretched over his knees and the gun he’d used threatening to slide right out of his limp fingers. He stays by his side long after everyone else has already left, but isn’t surprised to hear Andrea coming back sometime around dawn.

“He really was like a father figure to me,” she whispers as she kneels beside Daryl. He glances over at her, takes in her red-rimmed eyes and the shine of tears that haven’t had time to dry on her cheeks. Then he looks away again.

“Bet he’d have fuckin’ loved it if you’d have said that to him ‘fore he went and got himself ripped open,” he quips, so tired of idiots and not bothering to mask the anger for once. The Wild is too loud, edging each word with a growl. Andrea doesn’t respond. “He fuckin’ loved you like you were his own kid,” he spits at her. She flinches that time, and he smirks cruelly. “Oh yeah, he thought you hung the fuckin’ moon, princess. Just wanted the best for ya, and you shit all over that, didn’t you?”

“What the hell is your problem?” she demands, but there’s no fight in her tone. “You’re a real piece of work, Dixon, you know that? Acting all high and mighty, like you’re better than me, but you’re doing the same damn thing I did to Dale, you’re just doing it to all of us.”

“Fuck you, don’t turn this shit around on me,” he snarls, leaning closer until their faces are just inches apart. “I’m doin’ what needs to be done. Did it tonight, didn’t I? Fuckin’ shot Dale in the head so none’a y’all had to, so _you’re welcome_ , you ungrateful bitch.” His voice breaks just slightly, remembering the anguish in Rick’s eyes as he’d looked down at Dale, how his alpha’s hand had trembled just slightly, and Daryl doesn’t fault their leader for not being able to pull the trigger. He can’t fault his alpha for holding onto his morals where their family is concerned, and if he could help Rick in any way, he would. So he’d taken the gun, and he’d done what was needed. There’s plenty of blood on his hands anyway; what’s a little more?

“Why are you acting like this?” Andrea whispers, her words an echo of Lori’s when she’d come to find him to go and retrieve Rick before. This isn’t a guilt trip to get him to do what she doesn’t want to, though. She’s honestly confused, and it makes Daryl remember the night they’d gone out looking for Sophia, just the two of them. How she’d tried not to laugh when he’d told her about being lost in the woods himself; how he’d smirked when she’d thrown up and called it revenge.

Looking away, he hunches his shoulders and dips his chin to protect his neck, even though he has no reason to. He stares at Dale, at the glistening coils of his intestines, and then rips his gaze away to stare at the mutilated cow instead. “Don’t matter,” he mutters. “We all got our ways of dealin’ with shit. So just leave me be an’ let me deal my own way.”

“The point of being in a group is so that you don’t _have_ to carry things on your own,” Andrea tells him. He flinches when she lays her hand on his bare shoulder, the shock of her warm palm against his cold skin making him realize how long he’s been out in the middle of the pasture. “We’re all here for each other, Daryl, which means we’re here for you. You don’t have to keep going like this. We’ll help you. _Rick_ will help you.”

“Rick’s dealin’ with enough shit.” Shrugging her hand off, he stands and looks down at the gun he’s still holding before he scowls and shoves it down the back of his jeans. “C’mon, let’s get him back. Gotta bury him. ‘S what we do, ain’t it? Bury our dead?”

He means for it to come out scathing, but even he can hear how lost he sounds, his voice cracking and his hand shaking when he reaches up to run it through his hair, then back down his face. The familiar rasp of his beard, the scrape of calluses over stubble—beneath that, his blood singing in response to the moon, the Wild calling out to mourn and his wolf howling for the loss of his packmate. It’s that, more than anything, that makes him accept what he’s been trying to fight all along. These people aren’t just a pseudo-family to him anymore. They’re pack. They’ve _been_ pack, and now one of them is dead and he needs the stability the others can provide him. He needs the stability _Rick_ can provide, so he leaves Andrea with Dale’s body and goes to get the truck. They work together silently to put him in the bed of the vehicle, covering him with a blanket, and then Andrea drives them back while Daryl leans against his door and looks out the window, rubbing his fingers over his lips while he stares at nothing.

They won’t bury Dale tonight, not without everyone else, so they leave him and part ways. Andrea heads for her tent after catching his arm and squeezing gently, silent words passing between them before she lets go and leaves. Daryl watches her go, curling and uncurling his fists, until she’s inside her tent and zipping the flap shut. When he hears her getting ready for bed, he turns and lets his instincts lead him to Rick’s tent. He and Lori are inside, and Carl too, his parents curled together and asleep on one side with him on the other. He can smell their unhappiness and distress and feels it like it’s his own, although it’s more in response to Rick’s upset than Lori’s. Whining softly, he paces around the tent in a circle, wanting to crawl inside but knowing better. In the end, he curls up on the ground outside, nothing but a thin piece of fabric between him and his alpha, and whines again, low and mournful.

Something brushes against his awareness, his instincts flaring in response. Rick is reaching out to him even in his sleep, soothing his distress, and Daryl’s head snaps up, his eyes sharp. There’s no way a human should be able to do such a thing, no way their minds should be able to touch when one of them isn’t Wild, but Rick is doing it, his mental presence heavy with sleep and yet still calming him in a way he hasn’t felt since before they’d made it to Hershel’s farm. It’s such a welcome flood of warm relief that he feels himself go limp, his head thumping back down onto the grass as every muscle uncoils, leaving him boneless and floating in a haze of contentedness. His mind curls shyly against Rick’s, seeking reassurance while at the same time respecting boundaries, and he hears the man sigh, his scent bleeding from sour to cinnamon as he relaxes into easier slumber.

Looking up at the sky, Daryl blinks sleepily and smiles before he curls himself into a loose ball and listens to the sound of his pack around him. He doesn’t let himself sleep fully, knowing he’ll have to wake up before everyone else does and get back to his own tent before someone finds him laying on the ground outside of Rick’s tent and starts asking questions. For now, though, he’s happy to stay exactly where he is.

 

 

 

Hershel’s farm was going to fall eventually, but Daryl wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon. None of them were, but even though they know there’s no way they can fight so many walkers, all of them jump into action as soon as they see the herd coming. Rick and Shane aren’t back yet, and Lori’s frantically shouting for Carl, but they don’t have _time_. All they can do is scramble for the cars, trying to keep each other in sight. As soon as he can, Daryl gets to his brother’s motorcycle, firing bolt after bolt, bullet after bullet, anything he can do to cut down the numbers as much as possible. Stumbling across Carol is a surprise, because he’d thought she’d gone with Glenn and T-Dog, but there’s no time for questions. He grabs her and they peel out, the night air filled with the rasping snarl of walkers and the scent of burning meat and wood as the barn goes up in flames, a blazing beacon that distracts most of the walkers enough for them to get away.

Carol is clinging to him, her grip tight enough to be uncomfortable, but he doesn’t say anything about that or the wetness he can feel against his shoulder. Unsure if anyone else even made it out, if _Rick_ survived, he heads for the highway where they’d left the supplies for Sophia what feels like years ago. Nothing is certain, his mind frantically reaching out for any sign of Rick, and _there_. It’s faint, but he feels his alpha and his Wild blood settles. He pushes the bike a little faster, roaring down the desolate road full of walkers that try to reach for them but aren’t fast enough.

Once they’re all together again, he does a quick headcount. Everyone made it but Shane and Andrea, and a few of Hershel’s people were lost too. He’s there, though, with his daughters, and Daryl surprises himself by being genuinely relieved to see the older man. There’s something graceful and majestic about the human, something that makes him think of a wise old wolf. Then he’s reaching out for Rick, and his alpha is gripping his hand, and nothing matters but the way his mind curls against the man’s, relief flooding through him and enhanced by his leader’s own emotions. There’s something else there, something he brushes against briefly that raises his hackles in alarm. He searches Rick’s face and knows it has something to do with Shane, but he doesn’t press. He knows better.

Lori doesn’t, apparently, and Daryl is quite thoroughly done with the woman and her bullshit. She’s held her own for the most part, but she seems unable to do anything but nag and attack others when they press too hard at her own faults, lashing out and turning things around on them. She demands things of Rick and then crucifies him when he follows her advice or his own heart, doing the same thing she accused them all of doing once. She’s his alpha’s mate, though, at least legally, since they’re clearly on the way toward ending their relationship. Being Rick’s mate, even if it’s just in name, means that she ranks above Daryl, even if he will never see her as an alpha, so he watches her push and grits his teeth, and he’s probably the least surprised of all of them when Rick finally snaps.

That Rick killed Shane does not come as a surprise. Daryl knew it was going to be either his alpha or the other man, and he’s glad it was Rick who won. Hearing that they’re all infected is a much bigger shock to him, and it makes his Wild blood stir. He rumbles in discontent, but not at Rick. The man had done what he thought he needed to do, keeping it from them because who knows what they would have done if they’d found out sooner? After the way he and Glenn had found Randall, not a bite on him but still a walker, he supposes it makes sense, and so he accepts it, accepts Rick’s desire to spare them for as long as he could, and that’s enough for him.

It’s not enough for the others, though. The news has shaken them to the core, made them lose some of their trust in Rick, which Daryl finds absolutely ridiculous. He tells Carol as much later that night, when she comes to him with a look in her eyes that makes him want to growl. If she were Wild, like him, he thinks they’d be the same, neither of them alphas or ever destined to be. She would be the den mother, taking care of the cubs, but their place in the pack would be side-by-side, their ranks equal. It’s why he has no problem telling her how he feels about the way they’re all looking at Rick, his eyes harsh and his tone hard. She smells properly ashamed when he’s done, unable to meet his gaze, and he turns from her to look at Rick.

There’s something new in his alpha’s eyes when he looks at all of them, and when he tells them how it’s going to be, Daryl trembles with the urge to shift and show his belly. That can’t happen, so when Rick looks at him, gaze solid and searching, he shows his acceptance of his alpha’s decision by tilting his head back and to the side, baring his throat and dropping his gaze. Whatever Rick decides, he’ll follow him, and the gratefulness that brushes against his mind is filled with an underlying strain of possessiveness that has him biting back a whimper. This new determination suits Rick, this new command he’s taken over everyone coming to him as easily as breathing, it seems. Alphas lead their pack with an iron fist, Daryl has seen it time and time again. Rick’s going to do the same thing, but Daryl finds that he doesn’t fear any violent consequence if someone steps out of line, because Rick is a strong alpha, but he’s not violent towards the ones he cares about, and to the archer, that makes all the difference in the world.

 

 

 

The winter is hard on all of them, but no one as much as Rick and Lori. Daryl’s pretty sure it’s only hard on Rick _because_ of Lori, since she seems to be getting worse the further along in her pregnancy she gets. Daryl can smell the cub now, the faint traces of her mixing in with Lori’s natural scent. He can’t smell her parentage yet, but he wasn’t lying to Lori that day when he said he knew it was Shane’s baby. Even Rick knows, but his alpha is driven by a determination to find them the perfect shelter at any cost. He wants to find somewhere they can relax, somewhere they can raise the cub in peace where they’re not constantly on guard at every moment. Daryl can’t even remember how many houses they’ve raided by now, how many buildings they’ve slept uneasily in. The biting cold isn’t helping, no matter how many layers they all take to wearing. It’s a little easier on Daryl, who has his Wild blood to keep him warm. When it gets too bad, he just slips away with the excuse of going hunting and shifts for long enough to feel warm and settled again, never trying to keep his wolf at bay for long anymore because he has no reason to. The threat of becoming feral doesn’t hang over his head anymore, even if the group has been reduced to an animalistic drive to survive that sends most softer human morals out the window.

Daryl has killed more people in the last several months than his group knows. Rick suspects, probably, but he never says anything, just looks at Daryl and nods when he comes back to them covered in blood that isn’t just from animals and walkers. What the others don’t know won’t hurt them.

He teaches Carol to shoot, cementing his bond with her firmly in friendship. She doesn’t ask for more, doesn’t seem to want anything deeper, even if she’s taken to teasing him sometimes about them cuddling together at night for more than warmth. He just snorts at her, amused and fond, and she laughs softly.

Carl seems to have reached a level of maturity far beyond his handful of years. Rick teaches him to shoot and gives him a gun, and Daryl watches the boy grow with every passing day, becoming something like an alpha in his own right. Like father, like son, it would seem, although he doesn’t find in himself the desire to follow Carl the way he does Rick. As the months pass, the cold eating its way through them and becoming lodged in their bones, Daryl finds a new kinship with all of them in some way. He and Glenn become the ones who go out to raid nearby houses and stores wherever they hole themselves up, Maggie tagging along sometimes. She’s a strong woman, with a wicked sense of humor. Daryl likes her for that. He even warms up to T-Dog, spending some nights sitting with him while he’s on watch when sleep eludes him. They talk softly sometimes, voices lowered so as not to disturb the others. Other times they just sit side by side in silence, listening and contemplating.

It’s T-Dog that finds the poncho and gives it to him, making some joke about Mexicans. Daryl just huffs at him and points out that the pattern is closer to Native American before he pulls it on, liking the way it settles around him and traps in the warmth. His wolf rumbles as well, pleased by their packmate’s thoughtful gift.

Hershel becomes the father figure Daryl never realized he wanted until he had it. The human is wise and gentle, and always patient while he teaches Carol how to bind and treat wounds, or answers any questions Daryl can come up with to throw at him, trying to knock him off balance and evoke some kind of reaction that isn’t just a smile or a fond shake of the head. It never happens, and eventually he accepts that it isn’t going to. Beth becomes a cub that needs to be protected, same as Carl, even though she’s several years older than his alpha’s son. She’s just too sweet and gentle for the world these days, even though she’ll kill walkers the same as the rest of them. There’s a brightness in her that’s so pure it’s almost painful to look at, and Daryl swears silently to himself that he’ll guard that for as long as he can.

The only one he doesn’t get closer to is Lori, and she shows no desire to befriend him either. They circle one another like wary dogs, though Daryl is more prone to bite out sharp words if he thinks she’s getting too full of herself and demanding things she has no right to. Lori’s wariness is fear-based, waiting for the day Daryl tells Rick what he knows like their leader doesn’t already know it himself. He knows the baby in Lori’s womb isn’t his, but he’s claimed her anyway, and that shows more of him as a man in Daryl’s opinion than it clearly does to Lori.

While their waists shrink, their clothes hanging from their malnourished bodies, Lori’s belly grows. Eventually she has to start wearing Rick’s shirts, until Daryl and Glenn break into a Wal*Mart and raid the maternity section, bringing her back things that she can wear. The rest of her thins out, her collarbones becoming so sharp they look like they’re about to cut through her skin, but her stomach swells more every day.

One night, not long after that run, Rick joins him on his watch after everyone else is asleep. He’d known it was coming, had felt his alpha’s intent and heard the way his heart hadn’t slowed down, even after he’d started breathing slowly and steadily. The man sits beside him near the door, claiming the overturned crate he hadn’t bothered to take. They’re in a warehouse tonight, and most of the windows are either boarded up or still intact, so they’d decided it was a hell of a lot more preferable to the bitter winds outside. Spring is settling in, but the nights are still brutal more often than not, and the last thing any of them need is to get sick.

“I haven’t properly thanked you yet, have I?” he asks after several minutes of peaceful silence between them. Daryl glances at him askance, tilting his head slightly to convey his confusion without putting it into words. “For, hell, everything.” Rick chuckles and shakes his head, the movement making his curls bounce slightly. They’re even more pronounced now that he’s letting them grow out. Daryl’s own hair is getting darker as he lets it grow, returning to its natural brown. He hadn’t even wanted to dye it in the first place—one of Merle’s crack buddies had thought it would be hilarious to slip something into his beer one night and turn him blonde. Merle had thought it was hilarious until he’d sobered up. Daryl had woken up to his brother beating the tweaker to a pulp, and he’d joined in after he’d looked in the mirror.

“Didn’t do nothin’,” he mutters after a minute, looking away. He doesn’t get the chance to hide his eyes behind his growing bangs, because Rick grabs his chin and turns his face enough to catch his eyes again. He doesn’t flinch like he used to—stopped reacting negatively a long time ago whenever his alpha reached for him. Part of that is because he can always feel the man’s intent beforehand now, their bond only growing stronger as the days go by. So when Rick grabs him suddenly, he’s ready for it, meeting his alpha’s gaze before looking down and away.

“Hey,” Rick says quietly, but it’s only to make sure he’s got Daryl’s attention. “You've done far more than you’ve had to, Daryl. You’ve done everything in your power to keep us safe at any cost, no matter what it took. That means more than you’ll ever know. We can never repay you for what you’ve done for us.”

“Ain’t gotta,” Daryl grunts, rubbing the strap of his crossbow where it’s pressing into his chest. “We’re family, ain’t we?” he adds before Rick can try to speak again. “Family looks out for each other, no matter what.”

“Yeah, we’re family,” the man agrees. Something in his tone sends a prickle down Daryl’s spine and he glances up through his lashes, wary only because of the inflection he’s heard. “Y’know, I’ve always thought that family was what you made it, not who you came from. Sometimes, the people we’re closest to aren’t even blood related. That’s how it was with me and Shane. Brothers from day one.” He chuckles, and it’s far from a nice sound. A whine builds in Daryl’s throat because of it, and he suppresses it with difficulty. His instincts are urging him to lean closer to Rick, to offer his alpha comfort in whatever way he’ll accept it until his emotions stop roiling the way they are. If his leader isn’t happy, Daryl needs to fix it. His Wild blood will accept no less, and even if he didn’t have it, even if he were human just like the others, he’d still feel the same way. There’s a reason his wolf chose this man over his own blood—a reason Daryl did, because as much as he thinks of his wolf as a separate entity, they’re one in the same. Which means _he_ chose Rick, not just his instincts.

“Go on an’ get some sleep,” he rumbles, giving in to his instincts enough to nudge his shoulder against Rick’s thigh. “Gonna give it another hour or so, then get Glenn.”

“Are you really?” he’s asked, but there’s amusement in his alpha’s voice now instead of hurt, and it pisses Daryl off that even though Shane’s dead and gone, he can still put that look on Rick’s face. It makes him want to shoot the fucker’s corpse until there’s nothing left of him, and then set the scraps on fire.

“Yeah, I will. Go on now, get. Should’a been asleep hours ago.” _Rest, alpha. I can’t unless I know you are._

“Sure thing, Daryl. Just got one more thing to ask you.”

“Oh?” His ears perk, and he looks at Rick full on, those stormy blue eyes capturing him just as effortlessly now as they did the first time. He drops his gaze to Rick’s chin before too much time passes, not wanting the man to think he’s challenging him. “What’s that?”

“Will you teach me to hunt?”

Rick has this knack for completely throwing him for a loop. He never fails to do so, and now is no different. “Hunt?” Frowning, he rubs a bit harder at his bow’s strap. “Yeah, sure, I guess. Whatchu wanna learn for, though?”

“You need a break sometimes too, Daryl, even if you think you don’t. I figured I’m the best one to learn right now. Two people bringing in game is better than one, don’t you think?”

“Guess so. Sure, Rick, I’ll teach ya to hunt.”

“Thank you.” Rick stands then, smiling at him, and Daryl warms at the thought that he’s pleased the man—not just his alpha, but Rick as a person. He offers a crooked, nervous smile back, and then turns his attention back to the overhead doors of the warehouse, listening to the sounds of walkers shuffling by just outside. Before Rick leaves, he rests his hand on Daryl’s head and runs his fingers through the archer’s hair. It’s an affectionate touch, but that same hint of possessiveness he’d sensed months back is there, too. It makes him shiver, his eyes falling half closed; he doesn’t react otherwise, and Rick repeats the action a few more times before he finally walks away.

They find the prison a month or so later while Daryl’s out hunting with Rick. As they stand side by side, looking at those tall metal fences and the fortress behind them, the yard full of walkers and probably the prison itself, too, he glances at his alpha and knows that they’ve found their home. Now all they have to do is get rid of its current occupants, which, considering how far they’ve come since they all left the farm, he doesn’t think they’ll have a problem.

Looking at Rick again, he meets his alpha’s strong, sure gaze, inhaling deeply before he tips his head to the side and offers the man his throat. To anyone else, it would look like a nod, but he knows it for what it is, and Rick’s come to understand what it signifies, even if he doesn’t know the deeper meanings behind the action. As one, they look at the prison again, and Daryl feels his Wild soul rumble in satisfaction as he looks upon the new home he’s found his pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poll time, everyone.
> 
> When Rick finds out what Daryl is (not gonna happen yet, this is for when it DOES) how do you guys think it should go down? Should Daryl feel comfortable enough to tell Rick/show him, or should it happen at, like, the worst possible moment and then OH MY GOD IT'S A GIANT FUCKING WOLF.
> 
> Give me your thoughts. o3o


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death, life, and new threats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY LOOK IT'S THE PRISON.
> 
> Also, to give you guys a rough idea of Daryl and Merle's wolf forms, it goes kind of like this: Daryl is about four and a half feet tall at the shoulder, and about nine and a half feet long from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail. Weight wise, he's somewhere between 860-920 pounds, give or take. Merle is five feet tall and twelve feet long, and he weighs between 980-1100 pounds.
> 
> They're big fucking wolves. Think Twilight, but way cooler, because it's Daryl and Merle and there are walkers and shit.

Lori’s dead, Rick’s losing his mind in the tombs, and no one knows what to do. Daryl’s just as lost as them, his control fraying with each pulse of _losspainhurtdespair_ he can feel from his alpha. The prison is theirs, they fought for it and won it, and even though everything had seemed to fall into place, it had fallen apart just as quickly. Andrew being alive wasn’t at all what anyone had expected, because Rick had chased him out into a courtyard literally crawling with walkers. That he’d manage to get out wasn’t even feasible, but he had, and he’d brought his vengeance down on them hard for Tomas. The only good thing is that he’s dead by Oscar’s hand, and they’ve taken out most of the walkers.

They’ve lost people, though. T-Dog. _Carol_. And Lori. Daryl whines because he doesn’t know what else to do, staring helplessly at the door Rick had disappeared through with nothing but an axe, his ears filled with a loud buzzing sound until the wailing of an infant cuts through the white noise and snaps him back to the present. He spins to face Maggie, who is still sobbing into Glenn’s shoulder, babbling incomprehensively. She’s holding a bloody bundle to her chest— _the baby, she’s got the baby, she’s got her_ —and his Wild blood kicks into protective mode. Daryl might not be the den mother, but the instinctive drive to protect cubs is just as strong in his wolf as it was in Carol, and he’s not going to let this cub die just because everyone’s in shock and his alpha’s grieving right now.

“Everyone inside,” he barks, not expecting much and surprised as all hell when they obey. “C’mon,” he coaxes more softly, beginning to herd them all toward C Block. “C’mon, we need to get the baby inside. Can you check her?” He looks at Hershel, who nods and begins to limp away, his crutches clicking with every step. Looking at the older man, seeing the altered pant leg and the space where his limb used to be, makes Daryl grit his teeth again. The fact that Hershel hadn’t died is a miracle, and he mentally thanks Rick for his quick thinking in that, sending a pulse of comfort and gratefulness off into the turbulent storm of his alpha’s emotions and feeling them calm just slightly. It’s not nearly enough, but if his alpha thinks that this is something he needs to work through on his own, then the archer will give him the time he needs and try to keep their family going until he’s ready to come back. He’s not an alpha, he’s not Rick, but he’ll do his best to help the pack along until their leader returns. Right now, that means getting the baby inside, getting her clean, and figuring out what the hell they’re going to do about feeding her.

Perhaps that was something they should have considered beforehand, but they weren’t expecting Lori to have her for at least another week—weren’t expecting Andrew to survive and bring walkers down on them. Now they’re left to scramble for some semblance of normality, trying to pick up the pieces yet again and figure out what a baby needs.

She needs a lot.

Daryl grabs Maggie, because she seems like the most logical option, and they haul ass to the closest place they can find. As luck would have it, it’s some kind of daycare, and they find what they’re looking for and then some. Daryl tries very hard not to look at all of the little handprints on the wall, tries to ignore the stale scent of cubs and milk and messy diapers hidden beneath the putrid stench of walkers and rot. The opossum rattling around in the closet is a welcome distraction, and hey, meat is meat. They’ve eaten worse, so he knows no one will complain.

It’s dark when they get back, and he can hear the cub’s hungry wails even from outside. He barely waits for the engine to die before he’s scrambling toward C Block, Maggie hot on his heels. As soon as they’re inside, the baby’s howls bouncing off of the concrete and reverberating inside his skull, he senses Maggie getting the bottle ready and steps forward to take the cub.

“Easy there, little one,” he whispers against her soft, smooth forehead. She’s squirming and crying, only settling slightly when he rumbles low in his chest, the sound too quiet for the others to pick up. With her pressed to him, his head bent to look at her scrunched face, his shoulders hunching forward like he’s protecting her from everything bad in the world, she feels his attempts at comfort and responds the way a wolf cub would by squirming closer. Even so, she doesn’t stop crying until he gives her the nipple of the bottle. For such a tiny thing, she’s got a determination that impresses him, sucking for all she’s worth. He rumbles again, a low croon, and decides then and there that he’ll do everything in his power to protect this cub, no matter who her father was.

“She got a name yet?” he asks, looking up at everyone else. They’re staring at him, at her, with soft eyes and radiant smiles. No one questions his right to hold her, his right to feed her first. When Carl starts listing off the names of the women they’ve lost, his voice breaking over his mother’s name, Daryl looks down at her and thinks that none of them fit. Everyone else seems to agree. Cocking his head, he croons at her softly again, rocking her a bit to soothe a little whine of discontent when he lets the bottle drop too much and she can’t get the formula as easily. Fixing his mistake, a thought comes to him and he grins.

“Li’l Asskicker,” he coos, and the pack laughs, the last of the tension that had been clinging to the walls bleeding away. “That’s a good name, ain’t it?” They all nod, and he looks at their baby girl again, holding her close to his heart and breathing in her sweet scent, lodging it firmly in his mind so that he will always be able to find her. “Sound good to you, baby girl? Huh? Wanna be our Li’l Asskicker?”

She makes a gurgling sound around the nipple and settles against him more comfortably, her eyes half closed and sleepy. He can feel Rick’s fractured thoughts, too fast and too dark, and he wants to help soothe his alpha any way he can. Gathering up all of the emotion he’s feeling—protective, content, hell, he even adds in an echo of the cub’s scent, hoping it will do some good—he pushes it toward his alpha, feeding everything to him from Daryl’s adoration of the little girl in his arms to the love and support of their pack.

She may not be his cub, may not even be Rick’s, but they’ve all fought to get her here. Some of them have died to make this place safe for her and she’ll never know them aside from the stories she’s told by the pack as she grows. She’s _their_ pack, _their_ cub. _Rick’s_ cub, even if she’s not his blood. After all, family is what you make it, not what you’re born into.

 

 

 

Daryl sends the rest of the pack off to bed after the baby is fed and sleeping. When Beth comes forward, arms out to take the little girl, Daryl shakes his head quickly and backs up a step or two.

“I got her.”

“Son,” Hershel interjects, “you’re dead on your feet. You’ve done more than the rest of us have. Let one of us take her for the night.”

“I said I got it,” he whispers, fighting down his urge to growl because he knows that will wake the cub. “Y’all need rest just as much.”

“Have you ever taken care of a baby before?” The elder human doesn’t sound patronizing, or like he’s judging him. He’s just trying to help—it’s not his fault he doesn’t understand. “She’s gonna need to be fed every few hours, and changed frequently. She’s gotta be cleaned right or she might get a rash.”

“I know.” Daryl looks at the baby curled against his chest, dipping his nose to breathe against her downy-soft tuft of blonde hair. “I’ve got her,” he rumbles contentedly, well aware that he’s going to be a nuisance to anyone else if he lets them take her. “I’ve changed a few diapers before, I know what to do. Just show me how to make her formula and go to bed, old man.” He says it with affection, though, and he knows Hershel understands and accepts that much, at least. Beth looks between him and her father, waiting, and when Hershel finally nods she smiles.

“I’ll make up a few bottles awhile,” she offers. “And you can come an’ get me if you need my help. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” Nodding quickly to both of them in thanks, he heads up toward his nest in the perch, high above the rest of them for now, since everyone else has taken a cell on the lower levels. The prisoners Oscar and Axel have taken a cell together near the door, knowing better than to try and mingle too closely with the group for now. They’ve proved their loyalty in his opinion, though. Especially Oscar, since he’s the one who’d shot Andrew. Daryl had drawn his knife as soon as he’d seen the man grab Rick’s gun, sliding close and waiting to see what he’d decided. In the end, he’d decided right, had turned out not to be like Tomas. He and Axel will fit in just fine.

Beth brings him nearly half a dozen bottles in a mail container, and explains how to make more formula should he need any. Looking down at the cub still sleeping in his arms, he listens closely so that he won’t screw it up, and then glances at the makeshift crib. There’s already a blanket folded up in it so the baby will be comfortable, but it smells too much like the prison and nothing like any of them. Even though she’s a human cub, he still thinks she should be wrapped in something that smells like one of the pack. He doesn’t know how to get that thought across without rousing Beth’s curiosity or, God forbid, her suspicion, so he waits until after she’s down the stairs and lays the baby down as carefully as he can, staring at her face for a few seconds to make sure she won’t wake up before he changes the blanket out for one of his own, plus a shirt he’d stuffed into his pack that smells more like Rick. He must have snagged it from the clean laundry by accident. Wanting anything he can have of his alpha to help soothe him, he presses his face into the soft cotton and inhales deeply, drawing comfort from this small thing before he tucks it into the crib.

Appraising his work critically, he decides that it’ll do for now, at least until they can find her something better. Nodding in satisfaction, he settles the cub into her bed and puts her in the middle of his nest of blankets. Part of the reason he’d chosen the perch was because he’d refused to sleep behind bars, even if the cell door was open. It felt too claustrophobic to him, reminded him too much of what could have been his fate before everything ended. He’s got his pick of mattresses, and more blankets than the others probably realize, so he’d fashioned himself a sleeping spot more reminiscent of a bird’s nest. It’s comfortable, and it’s his, so it’ll do for Li’l Asskicker.

Once he’s sure everyone else is asleep, listening intently until he hears the last heartbeat, which is Carl’s, slow into the steady thump of slumber, he waits a few minutes more just to be sure. Then he strips quickly, making as little noise as possible, and releases his hold on his Wild blood, shifting easier than he ever has before. Shaking out his fur, he huffs softly and then slips into the bed to curl around the cub, peering over the edge of the container and snuffling at her wispy hair. A sub-vocal rumble disturbs her enough to make her crack open her eyes, but she doesn’t start fussing. After a heartbeat or two, she sinks back into sleep, making quiet little baby sounds. Daryl’s tail wags, his ears perking, and he can’t help himself. He licks her forehead, grooming her with gentle laps of his tongue, and then finally lays his head on his paws and drifts into a state of semi-consciousness that allows him to rest his weary body while still listening for any sounds from the others or the cub he’s wrapped himself around.

When she wakes up he’s already prepared, having heard her rabbit-fast heartbeat kick up a few notches as she started to stir. He’d shifted quickly and pulled on his clothes, and when she starts making the first soft whines that he knows signals her hunger, he’s quick to pick her up—being infinitely careful—and offer her the nipple after she’s settled against his chest. While she suckles, he croons in a low, continuous cadence, his instincts telling him to teach her his call even though she’s not Wild. He whines and yips softly, the sounds distorted by his human vocal chords, but that’s okay. He’s already decided that he’s going to teach her his wolf, too, because if ever the day comes where he must shift to protect her, he wants to be able to without scaring her.

Even if he’s not certain of how he can tell or show the others, still too afraid of their reactions and being ostracized for being a monster, he wants this cub to know him for who he really is, Wild blood and all. He wants to lope through the forest around the prison with her sitting on his back when she’s older, her chubby little fists gripping his fur too hard, but he won’t care, because she’ll be laughing and it’ll be the sweetest, most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. He wants this cub to be his as much as she is theirs, and he wants Rick to look at them playing together, Daryl teasing her with his tail out in the yard with the sun warming them; he wants his alpha to see how much Daryl loves her, what he’ll do for her, and he wants his alpha to be pleased and proud knowing that he’s got a part of the Wild that will do anything it takes to protect his daughter.

 

 

 

Beth is the first one to find them in the morning, the sun barely parted from the horizon. She finds Daryl laying flat on his back, petting one hand up and down the cub’s tiny back as she sleeps on his chest while he dozes himself. He’s covered her with his cleanest shirt, tucking her in so she’ll stay warm, and he’s relying on his naturally higher temperature to help with this as well. When the blonde girl stops a few feet away, the swell of affection in her scent, sweet like strawberries and cream, makes him look away in embarrassment.

“She’s such a quiet baby,” she coos, reaching out to touch the cub’s soft hair. “Did she give you any trouble?”

“Nah,” he rumbles, sitting up carefully and cradling the tiny body so he doesn’t jostle her too much. “She was good. Real quiet. Threw the dirty diapers in a bag I found when I went down for more formula. Had to make another bottle or two. She’s got quite an appetite.”

“That’s good, though.” Beth is looking from him to the baby, hopeful but too shy to say anything. The biggest smile he’s ever seen breaks across her face when he moves to place her in the teenager’s arms, her scent getting even sweeter until he mutters softly about figuring out something for breakfast and leaves the perch. He can hear her following, cooing more nonsense to the infant, and he knows she’ll be a good caretaker. Some day she might even be a good mother to her own cubs. Maybe she and Carl will become mates. The boy already seems besotted, and Beth seems too sweet to lead him on too much.

Other members of the pack are starting to stir, wandering from their cells with bleary eyes and yawns so wide Daryl hears several jaws crack. It’s too risky to build a fire inside to make enough to feed everyone, so he heads for the kitchen to find a pot. The half of the food they bartered from Tomas in exchange for helping clear a cell Block will last them a good while, but he’s too used to eating light and supplementing the rest with the game he brings in to want to stuff his face with the bounty they’ve been given.

Glenn stumbles in while he’s trying to figure out the best way to start cooking oatmeal, the Asian man looking more asleep on his feet than not. He masks his welcoming rumble with a snicker, finally deciding to just grab the biggest pot he can find to hold what he plans on making and heading for the yard. “Sleep well?” he asks knowingly, looking at the hickey Glenn’s loose shirt isn’t quite managing to cover.

“Yeah,” the younger man agrees, grinning. “How about you? We didn’t hear you yelling for help, so it can’t have gone too terribly.”

“Went just fine, asshole. I’ve been around babies before, y’know.” Snorting at his packmate’s lack of faith, he hauls everything outside while the tired human follows.

“You have? Oh, shit, didn’t mean to sound so surprised. You just don’t seem the, y’know… type?” He ends his sentence more like a question, smelling more and more nervous and desperate to remove his foot from his mouth.

“Type?” Daryl sets the pot down a bit harder than he means to and Glenn jumps, his dark eyes flicking around nervously.

“To, y’know, have kids. Did you? Have kids, I mean. You never really talk much about yourself, so I just assumed…”

Relaxing, he chuckles at the flustered man and decides to cut him some slack. “Nah, never had kids,” he agrees, and the flood of relief-scent that fills his nose makes him smile slightly. “Relax, Chinaman. Ain’t gonna bite yer head off. You’re just too easy to tease.”

“You are such an asshole.” He’s laughing, though, so he can’t be too mad. “And I told you before, I’m Korean.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get gone, ‘fore your lady comes lookin’ for you. Tell the others breakfast will be out in the yard. Ain’t much, just oatmeal. Gonna have to go huntin’ pretty soon. Maybe I can bag us a deer. Woods like they are, with no one around, those fuckers must be multiplyin’ like rabbits.”

The prospect of food, even if it’s just oatmeal, sends Glenn hurrying to get the others. By the time the fire is ready, Daryl’s dragged over the fan they used to cook their meal the first night after securing the grassy area inside the fences, and he’s filled the pot with excess water. They’re going to need to make a run soon and see if they can find more water in a nearby store. Maybe they can come up with a way to catch rain, too. He remembers the rain barrel outside of his house when he was a kid, so it shouldn’t be too hard to set some up around the yard. For now, they can just use buckets and whatever else seems like it could work.

Hershel comes out around the time the water starts boiling. Daryl watches as he stops, leaning heavily on his crutches and turning his face up toward the sun with a smile. He looks well-rested, and his scent carries the kind of sleepy contentment none of them have felt in a long time.

“Heard you had a good night,” the older man says once he’s spotted him and started heading his way. “Thank you for what you’ve done for us, Daryl,” he adds once he’s closer, lowering his voice and leaning in a bit. “You’ve gone above and beyond what was needed in every situation, no matter what it did to you. We’re all alive because of your will to survive.”

“Not all of us,” he mutters, shaking his head. “And it weren’t just my doing, you know. ‘S mostly Rick that kept us going.”

“Every pack needs two alphas,” Hershel muses, and Daryl’s head snaps up so fast he feels his spine crack.

“What?” he whispers, trying to hide the sudden surge of panic. He reaches out for Rick, wanting that feeling of grounding the man can give him, but the thoughts he tumbles into are still too jumbled and full of pain, so he ends up offering comfort of his own and hoping it makes a difference.

“I know we’re not a pack of wolves,” is the response he’s given, and his relief is so strong that his knees nearly buckle. Hershel doesn’t seem to notice, or is too polite to comment. “But we are a group of people from all different walks of life, and we do seem to operate more like a pack sometimes, I’ve noticed. We all defer to Rick, seeking his approval. He’d be our alpha. But he can’t lead alone. No one should have to. He tried that, and I fear that if he keeps pushing himself, he’ll burn out.”

“Yeah,” Daryl rasps, looking toward the tombs. “Yeah, I hear ya. We ain’t wolves though, old man.” _Well, most of us aren’t._ “We’re people.”

“Yes, we are.”

Daryl dumps the oatmeal into the water, barely even remembering that he was trying to make breakfast, and uses some pot holders he’d found in the kitchen to take it off the fire. He forgot a spoon, but Glenn comes out with one for him, Maggie trailing behind him and Beth behind her with the baby in her arms. Slowly, they all gather around the pot, Carl the last of their group to appear with bowls for everyone, and a jar of honey he’d uncovered from God knows where. The two newest members come out after they’ve all taken their shares and are settling on the ground to eat.

“Can we join you folks?” Axel asks hopefully from behind Oscar, who is standing slightly ahead and in front of him like he’s protecting the smaller man. They all look at each other, and then they all look at _Daryl_ , and he freezes with his spoon half-way to his mouth, his eyes wide and his stomach flipping at so many pairs of eyes on him at once, even if they are his pack. Everyone is waiting, though, ready to accept whatever decision he makes. His wolf whines, uncertain, and he swallows thickly.

“Yeah, sure, grab a bowl,” he grunts before shoving his cooling oatmeal into his mouth and dropping his gaze to his lap. From the corner of his eye, he watches the two men pick up their bowls—Carl had brought out enough for the pack plus these two, it would seem—and take their helpings. Oscar starts to head for a spot a little away from the rest of them, but Axel hesitates, clearly torn.

“Y’all ain’t gotta sit so far away,” he finds himself calling out before he’s really thought about it. No one disagrees, and Maggie even manages to smile at the two convicts. The relief on Axel’s face is mirrored by his scent, and he’s quick to sit close to Carl. The boy eyes him, wary but still friendly enough, and then asks what he’d been arrested for. Oscar nods his thanks to Daryl and takes his spot by his friend’s side, eating quietly and letting himself be dragged into the conversation with only a minimal amount of cajoling.

Looking at everyone, Daryl feels his heart swell. They’ve all come so far together. They’re a pack, just like Hershel said, even though the man hadn’t realized just how true his words rang when he’d said them. Underneath their blended pack-scent, they all have their individual scents that he’s imprinted into his mind so he can find them anywhere. Axel and Oscar still smell foreign, more like the prison with faint traces of Tomas and Andrew and the man they’d called Big Tiny, but those scents are fading more with each passing day, their own unique blend of smells becoming more prevalent. Those scents are already starting to creep in with the pack-scent, and soon they’ll be just as much a part of the mix as everyone else. The only one missing is Rick, but Rick can’t be here, yet. No matter how much Daryl wishes he was, he knows he can’t be. Not until he works through his pain and grief. When his alpha is ready, though, he’ll come back, and they’ll be waiting.

 

 

 

Carol smells too much like walkers, which is the only reason he doesn’t realize it’s her when he drags the corpse away from the door and throws it wide open, ready to kill the dead bastard who’s been pushing at it. He’d tried to cheer Carl up when they’d cleared the hallways with Oscar, but he’d only succeeded in reminding the adolescent of what he’d been forced to do. He’s been beating himself up over it ever since, wondering why they all continue to look at him for leadership when he has no idea what the hell he’s doing. Every time he’d stabbed at the ground with his knife, the door had moved, and he’d finally reached his limit.

Only it wasn’t a walker stumbling out when he’d swung his knife up and started to lunge. It was Carol, weak and covered in so much gore he couldn’t even distinguish her scent underneath the blood, who rolled her head to look up at him. It stops him in his tracks, a whine slipping free before he can help it, and then he’s dropping to his knees and burying his face into her shoulder, shaking and whining and breathing in quick, short gasps, and _there_ it is. He can smell her now, her skin cool and damp and tacky beneath his cheek as he nuzzles close and whines again. She must be so tired, and so hungry, but she still finds the strength to run her fingers through his hair, soothing him.

“It’s gonna take more than a walker to kill me, Pookie,” she rasps chidingly, and he chokes out a laugh that’s more muddled by tears than humor, gathering her close once he’s sheathed his knife and standing. He carries her out into the sun, trying to angle his head to shield her eyes from the worst of the glare. His feet take him to C Block quickly, and once he’s there he calls for Hershel, his voice frantic. The man’s there just as he’s laying Carol down in her bunk, and Daryl’s quick to back away, letting him crowd in and check the woman over. When he’s told to get water, he does so without question, bringing back a few bottles and cradling his friend’s head carefully as he lifts it to help her drink.

“How did you find her?” Hershel asks once he determines that the worst she’s suffered is dehydration and hunger. He’s already wetted a rag with water from another bottle and started to clean her face and neck while she closes her eyes and rests.

“Was down in another part’a the tombs,” he rumbles. “Let Carl and Oscar come back while I stayed behind. She was in a closet, shovin’ at the door, but there was a body in the way. Thought she was a fuckin’ walker at first.”

They leave her to rest, putting the bottles by her bed so she’ll have them close by when she wants them. Hershel heads back to the common area, but Daryl hovers in the doorway, drinking in the sight of Carol and feeling the pain in his chest ease a little as he keeps watch over her. When she manages to open her eyes enough to see him, she smiles.

“I told you,” she teases him. He cocks his head to the side and frowns. “I told you that you’re every bit as good as them. You’re the one who’s never going to give up, Daryl, no matter what. You’ll do whatever it takes to keep your family safe.”

“Yeah,” he agrees roughly, looking her in the eye and seeing the love and care he feels for her reflected right back at him. _Pack_. “Yeah, I reckon I will.”

She smiles, and he nods, and then his instincts start going haywire and his nose fills with the scent of Rick. Looking over his shoulder in surprise, he hears the sound of his alpha entering the Block and whines desperately. “Be right back,” he tells Carol, barely squeezing the words out. “Got someone who’ll wanna see you.”

He’s gone before she can even nod, walking quickly toward the common area and stopping dead when he sees Rick, real and in the flesh, holding his baby girl and looking so in love already that it makes the wolf want to crawl forward on his belly and lick his alpha’s chin. He’s so overcome he can’t speak at first, can only watch until Rick looks at him and his world rights itself with a click and a sigh. _Alpha_ , he thinks, every facet of his mind echoing the whisper until he feels like he’s howling it across the space between them. _Alpha. My alpha_.

Rick floods his mind with gratefulness and affection, his stormy blue eyes full of the same emotions as he looks over his daughter’s head—because she is _his daughter_ , not Shane’s. Never Shane’s—and everything is right again, even though the turmoil is still heavy in Rick’s mind, his grieving still very fresh and present. He’ll be okay, though, because he’s got them, and he’s got his baby girl. They’ll come through this.

“Welcome back,” he says, tilting his head back and baring his throat to Rick. He hears the quick jump of his alpha’s heartbeat, smells the sudden swirl of cinnamon into his scent, and looks away, back over his shoulder, before turning to the man again. “Got someone you’re gonna want to see.”

Rick kneels beside Carol’s bed and hugs her tightly. She hugs him back the same way, the two of them expressing their delight in seeing the other alive and mostly well. When she lays eyes on their baby girl for the first time, Daryl sees the den mother in her emerge, sees her fierce desire to protect the precious life that has brought so much light back into them, and he knows he will help her in whatever way she needs.

They’re all in this together, a pack until the end.

 

 

 

The thing of it is, no one realized that Glenn and Maggie weren’t coming back until the woman shows up at the fence with a basket full of formula and a hole in her leg. She smells like death and danger, covered in the blood of walkers with a katana slung across her back and darkness in her eyes. Daryl isn’t at all comfortable around her, because when she looks at him, it’s like she _knows_ , her gaze calculating as it pins him in place and dissects him from head to toe. He wants to bare his teeth at her and growl, his Wild blood so hot he aches from it. He feels like he’s in the presence of another wolf, like he does with Rick, but just like with the man, there isn’t even a hint of Other about the woman.

She barely makes a sound while Hershel is cleaning and bandaging her wound. When she finally does tell them how she knew to find them, and with baby formula, no less, Daryl’s ready to let his wolf free and hunt down his kidnapped pack members without a second thought. Rick keeps him calm, though, easing his tension the way only he seems to be able to. They get a location, a place called Woodbury, and the woman tells them she’s coming too.

“You think you’re in any condition for that?” Rick asks derisively. She will not back down, though, so they bring her along. If she tells them her name, Daryl doesn’t catch it. He’s too tense, his thoughts too loud for even Oscar to calm him down, and the man has proved to be really good at calming anyone with his low, relaxing voice.

They park where she tells them to and cut through the woods, coming out near the train cars. A wall rises in front of them, and Daryl’s already on edge because of what they have to do. When the woman slips away, as silent as a prowling wolf, he figures fuck her, let her run if that’s all she came to do. They have to get Glenn and Maggie back, so right now he doesn’t care about some dark, mysterious chick with a fondness for dreadlocks and cutting walker skulls in half.

And then she’s back, whispering for them to follow. Daryl’s holding on to his humanity by a thread, the Wild roaring at him to let his wolf free. Rick’s mind is soothing when it runs against his, the feeling similar to stepping into a warm bath, and that’s the only thing that keeps him in control long enough to do what needs to be done.

 

 

 

They get their packmates back just in time, throwing a smoke grenade into the room to cover them. A scent tickles his nose, familiar-yet-not, but he doesn’t have time to focus on it because they’re taking refuge for the moment to figure out a plan and _Merle’s alive._

His brother is alive, and he tortured Glenn. He’s _alive_ , and Daryl needs to get to him. He needs to find his brother, _needs to_ , but Rick is telling them they have to leave even though his wolf is screaming at him to find his kin. He tries to beg, his voice breaking as he pleads for Rick to understand.

“He’s my brother, he ain’t gonna-”

Rick cuts him off, his eyes brooking no argument, his voice low and urgent but not lacking for power. They need to get Glenn and Maggie back to the prison. They need to _go_. He _needs_ Daryl, _Daryl_ , to help him get everyone back home safely. As much as he wants to find his brother, he cannot defy his alpha, _will_ not defy him, so he whimpers helplessly and nods, and then he has to forget about Merle for the moment because they’re throwing open the door and spilling onto the vacant street with gunshots coming from everywhere around them.

Rick’s yelling, he’s yelling, _everyone’s_ shouting and firing off a barrage of bullets. When he howls at the others to go, that he’ll cover them, no one argues. There’s a firm command fluttering at the edge of his awareness, _come back safely_ , and he knows he’s going to do whatever it takes to obey his alpha’s order in this. So he lays down a cover of fire to let the others get away, and just as he’s about to follow them, something heavy cracks him in the back of his head and pain explodes behind his eyes. He hits the ground, yelping, and is unconscious before the second blow falls.

He comes to with a bag over his head, his hands tied behind his back, and the hard discomfort of a wooden chair against his spine and thighs. Whining, he tries to shake away the cloud of disorientation and his lingering pain. His head hurts something awful, but he can already tell that the original injury is superficial at best. He’ll heal before the sun rises. That’s not his biggest problem, though, because he’s not alone.

Light blinds him momentarily when the bag is pulled off his head roughly, a few strands of his hair yanked out along with it. He cannot suppress the growl that rumbles up from deep in his chest, his blue eyes dark and narrowed as he glares into the face of the man standing directly in front of him. He’s got a bandage wrapped around his eye, the other one cold enough to belie the welcoming smile he’s got on his face.

“Hello, Daryl,” he says. He sounds pleasant enough, and smells anything but. “I was wondering if you and I could have a little talk.”

“Ain’t got shit to say to you, fucker,” he spits. A hard slap knocks his head to the side, but he was expecting it, so it doesn’t catch him off guard. He cuts the inside of his lip because of it and spits out some bloody saliva before looking at his captor again. “If that’s as hard as you can hit, I’m gonna get fuckin’ bored ‘fore too long. Can we speed this up somehow?”

“Your brother seems to think you’ll be able to help us,” the Governor—this must be him, he reeks of entitlement and alpha posturing—says thoughtfully, looking down at him while Daryl meets his gaze evenly. “I wonder if he was right. He is your brother, and family should stick together, don’t you agree?”

Gritting his teeth, he refuses to answer or look away. To look away would be to submit, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let this man think he holds some kind of sway over him, even if he does have Merle working for him. Something of that must show on his face, because the Governor sighs and his eye glitters darkly.

“What a shame. You would have been invaluable, I think.” Looking behind Daryl, he nods once. “Bring him to the arena. I think the people of Woodbury deserve some compensation for their suffering.”

“What about Merle?” a low, gruff voice asks. Daryl doesn’t look away from the man in front of him for even a second, glaring and clenching his jaw so tightly that he can feel the tendons in his neck straining and standing out in stark relief.

“Leave him to me. Just bring this one.” Looking dismissively at Daryl, like he’s already discarded him like so much trash, the man tilts his head slightly and smiles thinly. “See you in a bit, Daryl. I hope you enjoy the entertainment as much as I think I will.”

After he’s gone, the man behind him pulls the bag over his head again and yanks him roughly to his feet. Without being able to see where he’s going, he stumbles as he’s dragged along, a few more people joining them. It means more rough, uncaring hands grabbing at him, no one caring when he growls and spits curses at them all. Beneath the anger is his fear, because the Governor is a psychopath, he’s _insane_ , and he’s got his brother. He’s going to make Daryl do something that involves his brother, and it’s not going to end well.

At least Rick and the others got away. So long as his alpha gets the rest of the pack back to the prison, that’s all that matters. Daryl will take his lumps same as he did before, and maybe he’ll land a few of his own before they manage to take him down. _At least I get to see Merle again_.

He can smell a lot of people. He can smell _Merle_ ; can hear the Governor’s voice clear as day as he accuses the older Dixon of being a traitor. It makes him snarl, wanting to rip the man apart for daring say such filthy lies about his brother. He doesn’t get the chance to, because he’s shoved forward and the bag is ripped off of his head, giving him his first unfiltered view of Merle in nearly a year as the man who parades himself as a leader, calls himself the _Governor_ , tells them they must fight to the death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Votes are about even for how Daryl should reveal his wolf. If you'd like to vote between telling Rick himself or SURPRISE IT'S A WOLF, just let me know. :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More death, decisions, and realizations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just... I need hugs, guys. This fucking chapter.
> 
> This fucking show.
> 
> Character death added to the warnings. Mind the tags, people.

Merle’s mind brushes against his, but it’s like his brother is trying to communicate across a line that’s filled with static, the crackle distorting his words. It gets like this between them sometimes, and of course it would choose now to act up. He looks at the other man helplessly, seeing the anger and frustration on Merle’s face while the Governor drones on in the background and the humans roar for blood. The older Dixon grits his teeth and lets his eyes flash amber, and the static clears then, his words broadcasting loudly and clearly inside of his mind.

_No wolves._

That’s all the warning he gets before Merle punches him in the stomach so hard that he barks in pain and drops heavily to the dusty ground. His stomach rebels, bile surging up his throat. He manages not to throw up, sour saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth as he coughs raggedly. He can hear his brother riling up the crowd, and when he looks up he sees that Merle has deliberately put his back to him. The Wild roils under his skin, and he just barely manages to hold it back as he rises and attacks.

Daryl has been in plenty of fights throughout his twenty-eight years of life. He’s won more than he’s lost, but he’s never been able to beat Merle no matter how angry he got. He knows that now is going to be no different, but he tries anyway, because this time he’s got too much to lose. So they throw each other down with punches and tackles, blood spilling between them. Every blow from the metal prosthetic covering his brother’s right stump drives the air from his lungs until he can’t keep from wheezing out every breath, his lungs on fire, but he refuses to give up.

When Merle finally gets him on his back, pinning him with ease despite missing a hand, Daryl spits furious, accusing words at him, burning from the betrayal and hurt.

“Follow my lead, little brother,” the alpha growls, his eyes flashing again as he lets his wolf slip free for a second, and then he’s pulling away; standing and hauling Daryl up with him, putting them back-to-back to face the walkers that have been brought in on catch poles. He swipes at them, snarling and shoving them back as they search for an opening that comes a split second after his mind howls _Alpha_ and gunfire rips through corpses and people alike.

They flee the arena and Merle gets them out of Woodbury, and when Rick gets in his brother’s face Daryl just wants to scream at them because they _do not have time for this_. Then they make it back to the rest of the group and Glenn pitches a fit as soon as he sees Merle, shouting and trying to shove past Rick. Daryl’s anger becomes frustrated desperation when his brother just laughs. Rick is trying to mediate, but there’s not much he can do. He looks at Daryl, they all do, and he realizes with growing dread that they’re going to make him choose. They won’t allow Merle to come back, no matter what he says to try and convince them. His pack won’t accept his brother. They want him to _leave_ Merle, and he can’t.

God help him, he cannot leave Merle again. He won’t.

No one accepts the decision they’ve forced upon him. Glenn protests the loudest, but it’s Rick who cuts in front of him, his voice low but pleading as he follows him to the car and tries to convince him to come back home while he shoves a few things into his bag.

“He’s my brother,” he whispers roughly, looking at Rick’s lips because he cannot meet his eyes. “Don’t ask me to leave him. I already did that once.”

He leaves them standing on the road, the air bitter with the scent of their distress and sorrow. Merle throws an arm around him, chuckling at his little display of possessiveness. Anger flares hotly against Daryl’s mind and he glances back at Rick with a soft whine before Merle is leading him out of sight, deeper into the woods they both know better than anyone else ever could. The last thing he sees is the fury and pain in his alpha’s storm-colored eyes as he walks away from them to be with a brother none of them believe deserves his loyalty.

“You wanna tell me what the hell that was, Darleena?” Merle asks him after they’re far enough away that they can’t smell the road or the people he’s left behind.

“Fuck you,” he snarls, shoving the arm around him away and stalking out ahead. He feels tense and unhinged, the Wild rising in him. He wants to throw his head back and howl his misery to the heavens. Instead he whirls back around and gets in his brother’s face, baring his teeth. “Fuck you, Merle. What the hell were you doing with that fuckin’ prick, anyway?”

“Paying off the debt I owed, little brother,” Merle snarls back, his eyes a mix between amber and gold as his wolf rises to the surface like Daryl’s is. “You think I would have stayed if I had a choice? That man’s a snake, and he caught me in a trap. Owed him my life, thanks to your little cop friend.”

“We went back for you, you stupid fucking asshole!” Throwing up his arms in disgust, he stalks away again, ignoring the warning growl that vibrates through the air. Unslinging his crossbow with a rough yank, he starts looking for tracks and tries to ignore the way he can feel himself stretching to the breaking point the further he gets away from Rick.

“You’re shitting me.” Apparently forgetting his previous anger the way only he seems to be able to do, Merle starts to laugh as he follows him. “You got somethin’ you wanna tell your big brother, Daryl? Got yourself a new alpha after leavin’ your own flesh and blood for dead?”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m tracking. Keep hollerin’ like that and you’ll scare dinner off.” It’s a weak deflection and he knows it, but he just needs quiet right now to try and settle his riotous thoughts. It’s been months since he’s felt so close to going feral, and Merle won’t be enough to calm him down. They’re kin, but the man is no longer his alpha. His alpha is miles away, with the rest of his pack, and he’s out in the middle of the woods trying to find a squirrel while Merle pisses on a tree and bitches. They’ve been snipping at each other for hours, and are settling in for another bought of bickering when Daryl hears the baby crying and his stomach plummets to his feet.

“You hear that?” he asks, frantic already as he drops his crossbow and strains to hear better. Merle makes up some bullshit story about coons mating, but Daryl knows what he fucking hears, and that’s a _baby_. When he takes off toward the sound, he hears his brother yelling something but ignores him, tearing off in the direction the sound is coming from. He sees the bridge, sees the people fighting off the walkers, and he reacts without even thinking about it. The baby is wailing in fear, but suddenly it’s not just a baby, it’s _their_ baby, screaming her fear and attracting danger, so Daryl deals with the walkers and levels his weapon at the back of Merle’s head when he decides to rob the family. His Wild blood is dangerously close to boiling over, and the other wolf must sense it, because he backs down and they head back into the woods, anger brewing in them both until they’re at each other’s throats.

“We went back for you!” he finally shouts, throwing it in the older Dixon’s face again when he can’t take it anymore. “You weren’t _there_.” Yanking his bolt free, he gestures with it as he tries to express his frustration over everything. “I didn’t cut off your fuckin’ hand, neither. You did that. Way before they locked you up on that roof!” He bares his teeth, growling dangerously low. “You asked for it.”

He should never have left his pack for Merle. He should have dragged his brother back to the prison, kicking and screaming if necessary, regardless of what the others thought. He still can’t bring himself to think he should have left his brother on the side of the road, because he’s _family_. He may be family, but he’s no longer pack, not like the rest of the group is, not like the people back at the prison he abandoned when he chose to follow another alpha into the woods rather than staying with the one who actually makes him feel like he’s worth something.

He turns to leave, and his shirt rips when Merle tries to stop him, knocking him down and causing his pack to slide off one shoulder. The breeze brushes gently across the scars, a shiver rippling down his spine, and he’s _done_. His brother tries to make it right as he tugs his pack back into place and starts to walk away, tries to make him understand, but Daryl’s had enough.

“Y’know,” he huffs, his voice cracking as he shakes his head. He looks at Merle, his eyes a mixture of gold and blue as his Wild blood pulses. “I may be the one walkin’ away, but you’re the one who’s leaving. _Again._ ”

Turning himself in the direction he knows will take him home, Daryl walks.

 

 

 

It’s a miracle his wolf doesn’t rip right out of his human skin when he breaks from the cover of the forest and sees Rick pinned to the outside of the fence by walkers. The sound of gunfire is loud, the Governor and his people attacking his pack, and he _will not stand for it_. When he fires, the bolt slams into the back of the walker’s head and out the front, stopping just a few inches shy of Rick’s face. His alpha freezes, surprised, and then he and Merle are there and the three of them put the rest of the walkers down while the fuckers from Woodbury retreat. When he meets his alpha’s gaze, Rick is the first one to nod. He’s quick to return it, baring his throat as relief cools his panic and Merle watches with an indecipherable look on his face. Just knowing he’s not going to be exiled fills him with so much emotion that he can’t stop the relieved whimper.

Merle follows them back through the gates, silent and contemplative. His eyes are burning the back of Daryl’s neck, but he will not look at his brother right now. He’s too busy drinking in every inch of Rick in front of him, his eyes tracing from the broad shoulders and down the strong back, lingering on his hips before sweeping back up again.

 _Oh_ , he thinks stupidly, because Rick looks better than good, he’s strong and alive and covered in sweat and walker blood, but he’s never looked more beautiful to Daryl. That first thought is quickly followed by another: _Oh, shit._

Merle makes a noise in the back of his throat, no doubt smelling his sudden realization. Unable to look at his brother, he trails after his alpha and tries to frantically pinpoint when he started thinking of Rick as more than just his alpha; when he started looking at him as a potential _mate_. He follows his emotions all the way back to the quarry, to the first time Rick looked at him and he found himself ensnared, and then systematically flicks through each encounter with every step closer to C Block they get. By the time they reach the others, Daryl realizes that he has no idea when it started. Maybe it was in Atlanta, when Rick calmed him down and he noticed the way the sunlight highlighted the human’s features. Maybe it was the farm, after Dale, the first time their minds had touched when both of them were desperate for comfort. Maybe it was the dozens of times over the winter, or the night Rick thanked him when he had no reason to.

Struggling to put his thoughts in some semblance of order, he startles when multiple members of the pack rush at him, arms enveloping him and tears leaking into his ruined shirt as they all express their joy over his return in their own ways. He tries to calm them the best he can, his gaze constantly flicking from them to Rick. His alpha is standing off to the side, watching and looking more at peace than he has in a long time.

All of the noise wakes the baby, and suddenly all he wants is to hold her, to breathe in her sweet scent and press his cheek against her soft head. Like they all know, a path clears for him, and Daryl’s standing over the makeshift crib before he even registers moving, reaching down and picking her up with the care and reverence the cub deserves.

“Hey, there, Li’l Asskicker,” he breathes, bringing her against his chest and curling himself around her with a shuddering whine. He wants to cry as he holds her, feeling her tiny baby fingers squeezing the fabric of his shirt as he rocks back on his heels and then forward onto his toes, crooning to her all the while and stroking her fuzzy hair while she coos and drools on his collar. “Hey, baby girl. I’m here now. I’m here. Never gonna leave you again, pup. Never.”

“Judith,” Carl says, and Daryl looks at him in confusion. “Her name is Judith,” the boy repeats, smiling.

Looking down at the little girl snuggled into his front, he whispers, “ _Judith_ ,” and feels a matching smile spread across his face.

It’s perfect.

“That’s a cute little baby,” Merle says. “Gonna be a shame when the Governor gets his hands on her.”

Just like that, the moment is shattered, the threat of Woodbury looming again. Daryl snarls at the thought of anyone hurting their cub, hurting _Judith_ , and he feels the Wild rise in response, his instincts pushing him to protect the pack and their cub at all costs.

They all move into the Block, locking Merle out. His brother doesn’t even protest, just leans against the bars and smirks as he looks at them all. Every once and a while he makes a racist quip toward Glenn or Michonne, or coos a derogatory remark at any of the women—especially Beth, who steers clear of him with the scent of unease clinging to her skin. The rest of them ignore him with ease, most of them used to the way he is even if they haven’t seen in him a while. He hasn’t changed at all aside from being minus a hand, but he’s found a clever way to get around that. His brother never was as stupid as people claimed him to be.

They discuss their options, Beth bouncing Judith while Daryl hovers nearby, desperate to shift and curl around the infant again. He wants to merge their scents until they smell like pack again, biting back a whine and ignoring the way Merle is starting at him.

Rick looks to him like nothing has happened, asking silently for his acceptance of his decision, the brush of his mind urging the archer to speak up if he feels differently. All he wants to do is keep his pack safe, no matter what it takes, so he tilts his head enough to bare his throat to his alpha, dropping his eyes and biting his lip when a swell of possessive satisfaction rolls over his skin like a physical caress. From the corner of his eye, he sees Merle tip his chin down, his nostrils flaring and his eyes narrowing. He knows his brother is going to corner him the first chance he gets, but he can’t care right now.

By the time darkness falls, they’re all too tired to come to an agreement, so they call a halt to it for the night. Everyone goes to their cells, and every single one of them comes to wish Daryl a good night, whether verbally or with some kind of contact. It leaves him reeling, so full of love for all of them that his vision is blurring. When Beth approaches, Judith gurgling and giggling in her arms, he immediately reaches for the baby.

“I got her,” he whispers, all-but begging with his eyes. She smiles and hands the cub over, telling him that she’ll make up a few bottles for through the night if he wants her to. He nods, already moving away, and takes the infant up to his nest. The blankets are cool, his scent stale, and he can tell that a few of his packmates have come up here while he was gone. He can smell Rick amongst the others, his scent lingering more than anyone else’s. Smelling his alpha’s scent mingling with his own on his blankets makes him whine, heat throbbing low in his belly. He settles himself down, resting Judith on his lap and petting her face. She curls a tiny fist around his pointer finger, squeezing with surprising strength for a baby and trying to pull it into her mouth. “No, baby girl,” he whispers, resisting even when she starts to fuss softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll feed you as soon as Beth brings your bottles.”

“Got ‘em right here,” the girl chirps, appearing with the bottles and Judith’s makeshift crib. He’d been so involved in Judith that he hadn’t even heard her coming. As soon as she hands over a full bottle, he settles Judith on her back, cradled against his chest, and offers her the nipple. When she starts feeding, gurgling around her mouthful, Daryl feels everything settle into place the way it should, the world once again right. “Welcome back, Daryl,” Beth whispers, touching his shoulder gently before she leaves.

When Rick heads his way, he’s not surprised. He’d known it was going to happen sooner or later. He checks on the pack, first, making sure everyone is settled and comfortable, and then the man comes up the stairs and hovers on the second to last step, just staring at Daryl as he feeds his alpha’s cub.

“You’re good with her,” he whispers, breaking the silence and coming up the rest of the way to sit at the edge of the nest of blankets. He looks healthier than he had before Woodbury, but he also looks more tired at the same time, the lines in his brow deep and exhaustion clinging to the corners of his eyes.

Daryl glances shyly up through his lashes before Judith gurgles and draws his gaze again. He strokes her soft cheek and nods, unsure of what to say to the man. The only thing he can think of is apologies that will probably come until the day he dies, but he knows Rick won’t accept them. He’s so infuriatingly understanding sometimes, even when he has every right to be angry.

“Gonna have a hell of a time keepin’ everyone safe if the Governor decides to come back,” he says instead of anything else.

“No, we won’t,” Rick disagrees, sounding so sure of it. “When he comes, we’ll be ready.”

“You sound pretty sure about that.”

“Because I know we will be.” The man shrugs, making it out like it’s just that simple.

Daryl frowns. “How the fuck d’you know? How can you be that sure of it?”

Rick looks at him, his eyes glittering in the darkness. Daryl sees the moon in them, sees the stars and constellations—worlds upon worlds tucked into those fathomless blue eyes. Those eyes are old eyes; eyes that have seen centuries come and go despite the fact that the man they belong to can’t be older than thirty-five. “You came back,” he says simply, and Daryl’s breath catches sharply. “So long as I’ve got you beside me, Daryl, then I know everything will be okay.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell Rick right here and now, the words desperate to spill past a throat that refuses to let them. Judith finishes her bottle and squirms, so he shifts her to his shoulder and pats her back to burp her, not even caring if she spits up on his shirt. He wants to curl into Rick and tuck his face under his alpha’s strong jaw, licking the skin there to show his devotion and submission. All he can do is bare his throat again, trying to convey what with his actions what he can’t grind out verbally. Rick understands, his mind brushing Daryl’s and making his blood smolder and his mouth go dry.

“I know, Daryl. I know. You’ll realize it one day, though.” And then Rick does something he’s never done before. He reaches out and touches Daryl’s throat, his fingers tracing down his jugular vein on one side before switching to the other. He presses his thumb against the archer’s hammering pulse, a low rumble not unlike a wolf’s vibrating from his chest. It’s a satisfied sound, almost happy. When he pulls back and stands up, Daryl is trembling from repressing his urge to whimper. “Will you be okay with her tonight?”

Unable to speak, he nods jerkily. He watches his alpha leave, taking part of Daryl with him in a way he hasn’t before. He tracks the man’s steps until he’s in his cell—the creak of him sitting on his bunk, the thumps of him kicking his boots off. Another creaking groan as he lays down with a sigh and makes himself comfortable for the night. Even Merle is in bed, although he knows his brother isn’t asleep. Knowing the older Dixon, he won’t sleep at all. That’s okay though.

After Rick’s heartbeat slows and he’s sure he won’t be disturbed, he lays Judith in the center of his nest, ignoring her crib, and wiggles out of his clothes. Merle’s heartbeat jumps when he hears Daryl shift, but he doesn’t call out, doesn’t probe his mind aside from a sharp nudge that is blunted by the static between them again.

Judith coos when he curls himself around her, his tail draped over her chubby middle and his dark, wet nose nudging her little feet. When she pushes her fist against his furry cheek, he croons softly and yips, distracting her as his tail wags and tickles her legs. His chest rumbles, soothing her to sleep as effectively as a cradle rocking. He inhales the scents that cloak her, milk and baby powder mixing in with the pack-scent. His own scent is already strengthening within that, slotting back in amongst the others as if he’d never left.

He’ll shift back when she wakes up for her next feeding. For now, he lets her sleep against him, warmed by his fur and his much larger bulk, looking so tiny against his side, and yet so right, like she’s exactly where she belongs. Like he’s right where he’s supposed to be.

 

 

 

“You’re playing with fire, baby brother,” Merle tells him as soon as he pins him in a corner outside, no one else around. He’d left after Hershel’s confrontation with Rick, understanding what needs to be done but not at all liking it. The threat of the Governor is hanging over all of their heads, putting everyone on edge. Rick is at his limit, plagued by demons he cannot escape. Daryl is trying to offer his alpha as much support as he needs, but maybe Hershel has a point. It’s not that he thinks Rick isn’t fit to be their leader, and he’ll always be Daryl’s alpha until the day he decides he no longer wants to be, but the man has been through a hell of a lot, and no one can blame him for cracking under the pressure.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, refusing to meet his brother’s hard eyes and staring at the sky instead. It looks like it’s going to rain. He can smell the faintest traces of it in the air when he inhales deeply.

“Don’t play stupid with me, boy. You need to think with your brain, not your dick. You need to back off and leave your cop buddy be, little brother. He can’t give you what you’re looking for.”

“What the fuck would you know about it?” Daryl snaps, meeting Merle’s sneer with a glare. “Stop lecturing me on shit you ain’t got the first clue about. You ain’t our Daddy, even if you keep tryin’a be like him.”

“No,” Merle agrees, his upper lip curling. “I’m not. And I ain’t yer alpha either, am I, baby brother? Not anymore, or else you’d show some damn respect for your elders, especially when they outrank you. You wouldn’t be pantin’ after some washed-up ex-cop like a damn bitch in _heat_ if you hadn’t already chosen him over your own flesh and blood. I leave for a little bit and suddenly you’re moonin’ over this guy like some lovesick schoolgirl. What happened to the balls you used to have? Huh? Or did Rick take those too when he bent you over-”

Daryl punches him in the face hard enough to send him sprawling, falling on top of him with a snarl as his eyes blaze golden and his canines thicken. They go rolling across their corner of the yard, snarling and clawing at each other until Merle gets him pinned and sits on his chest, his knees digging into Daryl’s shoulders to keep him down even while he scrabbles at the concrete with his boots and arches his hips, trying to throw the alpha off.

“You don’t know shit!” he shouts, his voice strained but still loud enough to echo off of the walls. No one comes to check on them, so he figures they’re safe enough for now. “You shut your goddamn mouth. I ain’t nobody’s bitch!”

“Could’a fooled me,” Merle scoffs, wiping away some of the blood trickling from his nose and his split lip. He spits a mouthful of it off to the side and leans closer, his hot breath heavy with the tang of blood. “Seems to me like you’re exactly somebody’s bitch, little brother. I knew you were never gonna be an alpha. Just didn’t realize you were gonna be an _omega_.”

The way Merle says it, like it’s the worst kind of insult, sends fury roaring through Daryl. His Wild soul breaks free with a howl that tears out of his marrow, surging up with more force than Merle is clearly expecting. He knocks his brother aside and lunges to his feet, turning his back on the only blood family he has left because he can’t even stand to look at him right now.

“When you’re done bein’ a fucking asshole, let me know,” he bites out. “Just ‘cause I ain’t letting you dictate every action I make don’t give you the right to treat me like I’m dirt. You’re my brother, you’ll always be my brother, but right now you’re so much like _him_ that you make me sick.”

Merle doesn’t shout at him when he walks away. He doesn’t move from where he’s landed on his back, and Daryl figures that’s better than them ripping into each other again so close to the others. For a second, he’d been terrified that he was going to shift, and if he had, then Merle would have shifted too, and then it would have been over. There would have been no way to hide two massive wolves fighting in the yard; everyone would have come running.

The Wild is still seething just under the surface, his emotions tripping too close to feral for him to feel comfortable being around the others right now. He needs them, though, needs the support they can give him, so he decides to pace around on the catwalk, which happens to be where he is when Rick walks through the door with Andrea in tow.

 

 

 

The surprised relief that Andrea is alive is overshadowed by the fact that she’s so close to the Governor. The betrayal and hurt on her face when she finds out that he struck first, assaulting them before they’d even known he was there, is bittersweet. That attack had lost them Axel, and Daryl misses the sweet-natured man. He can tell that Carol misses him too, which is surprising, because he hadn’t expected her to warm up to anyone outside of the pack. Axel had just had a way about him, though. Everyone liked him, and everyone misses him.

She’s clearly not expecting their hostility, which is funny, considering she’s been shacking up with the psychopath who pitted Daryl and Merle against each other and told them to fight to the death. She’s with the man who brought armed men to their gate and crashed a van full of walkers through it, setting them loose and nearly getting Hershel killed. And she wants them to do the diplomatic thing and have a peace talk.

It’s not going to happen, and Rick tells her as much before they give her a car and send her on her way. He knows Carol talked to her, urged her to do the right thing and sleep with the Governor one last time and then kill him, and he knows she’s not going to do it. She’s made her choice, and she’ll die for it. None of them are going to be the ones to kill her, either.

When the summons comes, Daryl knows Andrea is the one who’s set it up. She structures it to make it seem like the Governor is the one inviting Rick to talk, but his alpha’s not stupid. He goes anyway, bringing Hershel and Daryl with him. Why he insists the elder human joins them is a mystery. Maybe he thinks the man will be able to talk him down if things start to get out of hand. That makes more sense than anything, because Rick may be their leader, but they all rely on Hershel’s council. His particular brand of wry humor has comforted Daryl on more than one occasion, and he’s not the only one.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t go the way Andrea was hoping. She’s kicked out of the pow-wow, watching on in frustration as Daryl and the Governor’s new lieutenant circle one another like wolves waiting for the right moment to lunge. When the walkers show up, their tension manifests in a challenge to kill the most undead. By the time it’s over, they’ve come to a tentative understanding. It will mean nothing once they’re back in their separate homes, because both of them know that the men they follow will not back down no matter what promises are made. Andrea might hold out hope for a resolution, but the rest of them know better.

He knows when the meeting is over, feeling the angry churning of Rick’s thoughts and heading back to meet his alpha so they can leave. As they’re climbing into their separate cars, he shares a look with the Governor’s man before turning away, ignoring the fact that Andrea is going back to Woodbury because if he got angry it would mean he was expecting her to choose them, and he knows she’s not going to. As far as she probably knows, the Governor and Rick have come to an agreement. Just a slight brush against Rick’s mind tells him that is not the case, at least, not fully. He may have agreed on something with the Governor, but he’s not expecting him to uphold his end of the deal. What that deal is, though, Daryl isn’t sure. He’ll have to wait to find out with everyone else.

 

 

 

Merle is gone. He’s gone and he took Michonne. Shit, Daryl knew something was wrong when he tracked him down earlier, those claims that he was looking for meth were such bullshit, but he’d been so desperate to reconcile with him, admitting that all he wanted was to have his brother back, that he hadn’t let himself think of anything else. As soon as they realize it, he volunteers to go, knowing he’s the only one who can track Merle down. Rick agrees with a quick nod and he’s gone, shifting as soon as he’s out of sight and carrying his clothes and his crossbow in his jaws as he eats up the miles. The trail is easy to follow at first, but Merle knows how to alter tracks and hide trails just as well as Daryl does; knows how to throw someone off his tail if he doesn’t want to be found. These are special circumstances, though, and he will not be delayed.

He smells Michonne before he finds her, stopping long enough to change back and get dressed before he lopes up to meet her. Their exchange is brief, and he warns her to keep anyone from following before he’s running again. There’s hope in him this time, because Merle let the woman go, even knowing what that would mean. He let her go, so he can’t be completely lost. Not unless he’s decided to do something stupid.

Daryl runs faster. He runs until he’s reaching the limit of what even he can endure, and still he pushes himself harder, forces his feet to move faster, until he’s slinking up along the silos and raising his crossbow in preparation for whatever it is he’s going to find.

What he finds is Merle eating a corpse.

His brother is dead, a walker, _lost_ , and he can’t be fucked to hold back the emotions that spill out of him, dropping his crossbow and whimpering, drawing his brother’s attention. When Merle—no, fuck, _walker_ , it’s a fucking walker—comes after him, he can’t make his arms obey him and pick up his bow. He shoves the walker wearing his brother’s face back once, twice, his whimpers edging into choked sobs and agonized whines as he spirals down into the Wild part of him that doesn’t care about anything but survival. The next time the walker comes after him, he’s too far into feral, and he snarls as he tackles the thing to the ground and drives his knife into it again and again, sobbing and broken and refusing to stop until the face below him is unrecognizable. Then he crawls backwards and scrambles out of his clothes, barely kicking his boots away in time as he shifts and throws his head back, howling his loss to the moon.

The sound attracts other walkers in the area to him, and he falls upon them with a ferocity they cannot hope to combat, ripping them apart and strewing their remains around him as their blood splatters his fur and their rotting flesh disintegrates on his tongue. Once there’s nothing left for him to kill, he lays beside Merle’s corpse and whines pitifully, pressed up tightly against his brother as if it’s possible for him to get close enough to force heat and life back into the cold, dead flesh.

Eventually, he knows he has to leave. He doesn’t want to, can’t just leave Merle like this, so he shifts and gets dressed and dumps the first flammable thing he can find over his brother’s corpse, setting him aflame and watching him burn— _just like Mom, huh, Merle? Turned to ashes just like her. At least I’m here to see you off though, right, brother? At least I got to say goodbye before there was nothin’ left._

He leaves then, trudging back home, and comes out of the forest to see the smoking guard towers, and beyond them, the prison. It’s still standing, still in one piece, and his family is safe within the fences. They’ll have to fix the gates, and he knows they will. That’s for another time, though. For now, they can reinforce them against any walkers, clear the fields again, and go back to living in safety now that it seems they’ve scared the Governor off. It’s not for good—he knows that, and Michonne knows it too—but it’s enough for now. Once he’s checked on everyone and cleaned the blood from his skin, he heads to the perch and curls up in his nest, pressing his face into the blankets and choking back his sobs even if he can’t stop his tears. He ends up just making strained, broken whining noises, clenching his hands in his blankets so hard his fingers spasm and ache.

A touch to his shoulder rouses him some time later, and he glances up at Rick with red-rimmed eyes. His alpha crouches in front of him and holds out a bottle of water silently, his eyes conveying everything that needs saying. When Daryl is sitting up and sipping from it, going slowly to soothe his sore throat, his leader and friend crawls into the nest and sits beside him, pressing their shoulders together and looking down at the rest of the Block while Daryl tries to compose himself. Every time he thinks he’s almost there, he fractures again and has to start from the beginning, his hand shaking so badly he almost drops the empty bottle before Rick takes it from him.

Gentle brushes against his mind comfort him, Rick neither forcing him nor coming across as overbearing. He’s still unfailingly patient, letting Daryl come to him until the archer turns and presses his face into his alpha’s neck, giving in to the desire he’s had for longer than he can even determine to tuck under the man’s strong jaw and just breathe him in. An arm settles around his shoulders, drawing him closer, and he whines as he breaks yet again, shuddering and sobbing out his desolation in great, ugly gasps. Rick comforts him through it, stroking down his spine and making soft sounds that ring like benediction.

When the time comes that Daryl has no more tears to shed, he doesn’t pull away and Rick doesn’t push him off. He keeps rumbling, cupping the back of Daryl’s head and pressing his nose into his hair, letting him glue the fragile pieces of himself back together using his alpha’s strength to mend the damage.

“Come with me,” he whispers finally, and he hums when the archer shakes his head quickly. “Please, Daryl. You need to see.”

Rick leads him with reverent touches and gentle coaxing, backing down the stairs to keep the hunter in his sight as Daryl stumbles after him, following his alpha because there’s nothing else he can do. When he’s led into a cell, it takes him too long to realize where he is, blinking stupidly as he looks around and takes in nothing. It’s not until he hears Judith gurgling softly that he understands, reaching out to take the cub and bringing her close to him, tucking her against his heart and breathing in her scent like it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning. Strong arms wrap around him, Rick’s chin against the top of his head because he’s leaning over Judith, surrounding the infant, and now his alpha is helping him protect her, her tiny body tucked safely between them.

“I did it for all of us, and you did, too, but you also did it for her. She’s ours, Daryl, all of ours. Not just mine anymore, if she ever was. She’s our baby, our light in the darkness.”

“Li’l Asskicker,” Daryl mumbles, and Rick chuckles.

“Yeah, she is that. Remember that when you feel like you’re in need of it, Daryl. She’s our cub. Our Li’l Asskicker. She’s yours just as much as she’s mine, and Carl’s, and Carol’s, and everyone else’s. Don’t ever think you have no place here, with us. We’re your family, _she’s_ your family. She needs you, and I need you.”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he breathes, tilting his head up enough to tuck his nose into the crease of his leader’s jaw and breathing him in deeply, smelling Rick’s strong, pure scent, and the mingled scents of the pack. His Wild blood calms, flowing through him with ease rather than fighting him.

 _I think I love you, alpha_. His mind curls into Rick’s, welcomed eagerly as their thoughts twine together. Rick sighs contentedly, his warm, dry lips rasping over Daryl’s skin, and he knows, he _knows_ , that nothing can ever replace this. Nothing can ever replace Rick, or Judith, or the way his mind fits with his alpha’s like they were always meant to.

 _I love you so much_ , he thinks again, and the response is a rumbling sigh that makes goosebumps break out all over his body.

_I know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poll is still going for how Daryl's wolf is revealed. The way with the most votes shall come to pass. Does Daryl reveal his wolf to Rick on his own, or does something happen and then OH MY FUCKING GOD GIANT WOLF.
> 
> Give me your thoughts, if you'd be so kind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl finds a survivor, and realizes he's in more trouble than he can handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS I DID A THING.
> 
> So I changed up the way Bob gets found, because, well... I wanted to. You'll see what I mean. I hope you like it.
> 
> Also, for those of you who might not be familiar with Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, I did another thing. It involves self-lubrication. Just a head's up.
> 
> So, yeah. Have at it.
> 
> MIND THE TAGS. I ADDED NEW ONES.

Rick takes to farming a lot easier than most of them had expected him to. Even Daryl was surprised at how quickly his alpha settled into tilling the soil and planting crops rather than going on runs. He doesn’t even prowl the fences anymore, not like he did when Hershel first suggested the idea of him laying down his gun and picking up a hoe. After seeing how much more relaxed he was after just the first few days, the pack relaxed and chipped in to show their support for their leader in any way they could think to. Beth brought him water and sunscreen, Carl picked up a shovel to help him when he asked, and Hershel settled in to teach them while everyone who went on runs hunted for seeds and other supplies.

Daryl’s the one who brought Rick the gardening gloves after the first day. He’d smelled the blood underneath the blistered skin on his alpha’s hands; had seen how carefully Rick handled things because of it. The bitter, bruised pain-scent had burned his nose all night long, and in the morning he’d slipped away and headed for the closest store that boasted a gardening section. He’d found the sturdiest pair of gloves he could, as well as more seeds and some kind of soil enricher that promised to help any plants grow healthier and happier. Rick had looked so pleased when he’d handed everything over, and his alpha’s pleasure had warmed him in turn, his wolf rumbling in delight at the feeling of a job well done.

Bringing in the Woodbury residents was a group decision. Despite the way they’d been used to living, most of them settled in very well and found ways to contribute, and more people meant stronger defenses and less strain on the pack. The ones who didn’t acclimate, the ones most loyal to the Governor, were either shown the door or left on their own.

Everyone settles in, life returning to as much of a semblance of normality as it can. Everyone is well adjusted, and everyone is happy.

Well, everyone except Daryl.

He tries, he really tries, but he doesn’t do well around large numbers of people, he never has, and all he can think of when he looks at anyone from Woodbury is how they’d howled for blood and violence that night, screaming at Merle to kill him, or for them to kill each other. Some of them recognize him from that and can’t meet his gaze, smelling of shame and regret. He can’t look at them either, and he’s constantly on edge to the point that even Michonne asks him what’s gotten into him.

Unwilling to talk about it with the memory of Merle’s death still too fresh even though at least a few months have passed by then, Daryl sought solitude and solace in the forest. He’d already been their main source for getting meat anyway, and with so many new mouths to feed, he figured no one can say he’s hiding from anything. He may be on the council—and God, wasn’t that a mind fuck and a half, when they’d extended the offer to him—but that doesn’t mean he has to be there every second of the day, staring at people who wanted his pack dead and acting like everything’s okay now. He’d refused to join at first, wanting no part in telling anyone what to do, but Rick had tracked him down and found him pacing in the boiler room, had calmed him better than anyone but maybe Carol could and talked him around until he’d relented. His alpha had gripped his shoulder when he’d finally nodded, _thanking_ him, and Daryl could do nothing but give Rick his throat and run into the forest as soon as he was alone, needing nature and the collective scents of Georgia to soothe his frazzled nerves.

He'd found the pregnant sow that day and remembered something Hershel had said about catching wild hogs to domesticate them for food. It had been relatively easy to catch her, although she’d fought and squealed the whole way back to the prison, and the racket she’d made had brought quite a few walkers to him.

In the end, the look on Rick’s face when he’d dragged the hog past the gates is one he’s going to cherish for a long time. The man, with Carl’s help, had scrambled to build a temporary pen to hold her until they could make something better, and Daryl walked away with a bag full of rabbits and the heavy weight of Rick’s gratitude blanketing his mind.

That doesn’t help his other problem, though, which is that he’s so in love with Rick that it _hurts_ , and his alpha doesn’t realize it. Daryl isn’t good with verbalizing his feelings in a way that gets them across how he actually means them, and he refuses to risk his closeness with his alpha just because he stumbled over his words and said something wrong.

It’s just, it’s _Rick_ , and the man won’t stop reaching for him with his mind and his thoughts, calming Daryl and strengthening his devotion without even knowing what he’s doing. How can anyone spend that much time melding their thoughts with another person’s and not even _know_? It’s driving him insane, making him want so badly that he’s lost track of how many times he’s fucked into his own fist at night, biting his blankets to stifle his needy whines; Rick’s mind a sleep-heavy presence that he can’t help but curl and rub against until he comes all over his fist and his blankets, the touch of possessive satisfaction from his alpha’s sleeping mind threatening to get him going all over again.

So Daryl hunts, and he tries his best to avoid most of the Woodbury people, and he ends up getting to know some of them anyway. Like Caleb, who’s a doctor, who figures out a way to make a prosthetic leg for Hershel so he doesn’t have to limp around on crutches anymore. And Patrick, who is so earnest and sweet and desperate for approval to the point that he’s decided Daryl is the role model he wants and hangs around him whenever he’s in the prison long enough. He meets Tyreese and Sasha, who hold no grudge against Rick for how he’d been the first time they’d found the prison, which apparently happened while Daryl was off in the woods with Merle wishing he was home. Through Tyreese he meets Karen, who is as enamored with the burly-looking black man as he is with her, the two of them smelling sweetly of apple pie and vanilla whenever they’re together.

Sometimes they run into survivors while they’re out on runs, and they’ve developed a system for that, too. The come up with three questions that they ask everyone they find, and depending on the way the person or people answer, and how they’re acting, they either bring them back home or they leave them, because there’s no room at the prison for anyone who’s going to have problems with the way they do things.

Glenn and Daryl are the ones who usually go out to scout for people when there are no runs planned. Michonne joins them sometimes, when she’s not out trying to track down the Governor. She refuses to believe he’s dead, and Daryl feels the same way, but he’s needed for other things, so she goes out on her own. It’s why he brings her the horse when he finds him just off the side of the highway, limping and malnourished but otherwise healthy. He coaxes the gelding close with some wild apples and ropes him, leading the placid beast back home and enjoying how calm the equine is, even though he knows he can smell the Wild in Daryl.

The look on Michonne’s face reminds him of the way Rick had looked at him when he’d dragged home the sow, but her quiet gratitude doesn’t affect him the way his alpha’s does. She’s earned her place in the pack in his mind, something close to an alpha in her own right, but she’s not Rick, and no one can get to him like Rick does. When they check the horse together, he discovers that the reason for the gelding’s limp is because of an abscess in the hoof, so once they take care of it he heals up just fine and regains the weight he’d lost while he was out on his own. He accepts the bridle and saddle as easily as he accepts everything else, and it makes Daryl happy that his pack mate now has a way to get home faster. Her natural scent—sword oil and leather—has blended in with the rest of the pack-scent, clicking into place like it always belonged there. So many different scents shouldn’t combine as harmoniously as they do, but Daryl loves it, he loves to breathe in deeply and let the smell of _pack_ settle him as he opens the new gate they’ve rigged and lets Michonne out that morning. Rick comes over to close it, because Daryl had told him the night before he planned on hunting, and he shares a quiet moment with his alpha, baring his throat and trying not to whine when the man rubs his thumb against his thundering pulse. He’s taken to doing that any time Daryl leaves on his own, just as Daryl has taken to patting his stomach when he leaves with a group on a run. It’s become their thing, just one more small facet of their bond that they don’t share with anyone else. Once the human steps back, Daryl hurriedly slips out beyond the gate, listening to the two heavy slabs of metal groan as they’re pulled shut behind him.

“Daryl,” Rick calls, and he glances back at his alpha, aware of the walkers staggering closer but knowing he has time for this.

“Yeah?”

“Come back safely.”

Tilting his head in acknowledgement, he hides his smile with his shoulder. “Always do.”

 

 

 

Daryl’s got his muzzle deep in the belly of a doe, nosing entrails aside to get to the rich liver, when a noise makes him glance up and he sees the wolf peering at him through the trees. He’s a little smaller than the archer, not as broad in the shoulders; his chest not as deep and his sides thin more from malnutrition than anything else. The way he’s standing, his head low and his posture relaxed, is the first indication that he means no harm. Even so, Daryl is quick to stand and peel his bloody lips back to bare his teeth, raising his tail slightly and growling.

 _Who are you?_ He sends the thought out with a strong push, and the flutter against his mind he receives in return is friendly but cautious.

_Hello. My name is Bob. Stookey. Never thought I’d see another wolf in my life, and yet here you are. What’s your name?_

_Daryl._ Stepping over his kill, he begins to circle the other wolf, inhaling deeply and smelling the stale, fading scents of others on him. They’re days old, maybe even a week or more. His ears swivel forward when Bob turns to face him, keeping him in his sights but showing no signs of aggression. He does take a more dominant stance, raising his head and his tail slightly, and Daryl growls in warning but backs off.

 _You got people?_ he asks gruffly.

 _Had_ , the wolf corrects, cocking his head to the side. His fur is black underneath all of the mud he’s coated in, and his eyes are more green than gold, and tired. _Had a group. Had two. They didn’t make it._

 _You the only one left?_ Coming closer, Daryl sniffs at him and watches him do the same, the both of them relaxing enough that Bob’s tail starts to wag. When the older wolf acts like he’s going to lick under his jaw, he scrambles back and rumbles. He’s not an alpha, and he knows the other wolf knows it.

 _Sorry, sorry. Just trying to show you that you’ve got nothing to worry about._ The black wolf sits, his tail thumping against the ground as his tongue lolls from the side of his mouth. _You’ve got a camp_ , he says, and it’s not a question. _You’ve got a pack._

 _Yeah._ He eyes Bob, the Wild in him tingling because he thought Merle was the last wolf he was ever going to see, and now here’s this one. _Yeah, I’ve got a pack._

_Is it safe there? Protected?_

Daryl bares his teeth, not liking the insinuation that he would let his family stay anywhere that wasn’t safe. _Yeah, it is._ The wolf across from him doesn’t smell like an alpha, but he doesn’t smell like Daryl, either. He mentally slots him into the category of beta, and that will work just fine.

 _Can I come back with you?_ He sounds so hopeful, his head dipping low as he whines and licks his lips. Daryl decides to ask him the questions and go from there.

_How many walkers’ve you killed?_

The question seems to surprise him. _Walkers?_ Tilting his head to the side, he gets a distant look to his eyes for a second before blinking. _Shit, I don’t know. Lost count. At least a couple dozen or so._

Good, he knows how to fight. _How many people have you killed?_

The scent of burnt coffee fills the air, overshadowing the mint-scent that’s been tingling in his nose ever since Bob realized he has a camp and a pack. _One._

Narrowing his eyes, Daryl growls, _Why?_

 _She asked me to_ , is the reply, Bob’s heartbeat thumping from sorrow and his scent remaining clear of any deception. He looks at the ground, then at Daryl again, and licks his lips nervously. _I’ll contribute_ , he promises.

 _Wanna come back with me?_ he finally asks, because that’s the reason he’d come out here today, needing to get away from all of the people for a while and figuring a hunt was the best way to do that, same as it has been every other time.

 _Yes,_ Bob whines, the scent of mint and something else, something syrup-sweet, blooming again.

_You got any questions for me, ‘fore we go?_

_Nah,_ the wolf decides. _Doesn’t matter who you are._

 _Why not?_ He wasn’t expecting that response, so he’s a little thrown, eyeing the newest recruit for the prison.

_‘Cause you’re a wolf, and you’ve got a pack. Nothing else is important._

Fair enough. Nodding, Daryl dips his head to run his muzzle against Bob’s shoulder, welcoming him and feeling a cold nose press into his own fur.

 _Actually, I do have one question_.

 _Yeah?_ Daryl’s ears perk. _What is it?_

_You gonna finish that deer?_

Huffing in surprise and amusement, he looks at the carcass, and then at Bob. _Have some, if you want._

 _Thanks, man. Can’t remember the last time I ate deer._ He falls upon the kill with gusto, growling happily and ripping off huge chunks of meat that he barely takes the time to chew before he’s swallowing it down. _Damn, that’s better than I was expecting_ , he groans in satisfaction. Faster than Daryl is anticipating, he’s licking his lips clean and turning to face the archer, the dark fur on his muzzle and cheeks wet with blood. _It’s gonna be so nice to be around people again, especially if they’ve already accepted you. I’ve met some nice folks in my life, but these days no one’s too keen on having a wolf around. Guess they don’t wanna deal with the outcome if we get bit and shift._

Oh. Shit. Maybe he should have mentioned that first. Daryl ducks his head and whines, pawing at his face. _They don’t know_ , he mumbles. _Ain’t told ‘em yet._

 _Oh._ Bob’s mind brushes against the edge of his, curious and contemplative but not condemning. _So I should probably keep the fur and teeth to myself?_

_Up to you. They’re good people, they are, I just…_

_No, hey, it’s cool, I understand._ Bob nuzzles his shoulder and Daryl feels himself relaxing. _I believe you. If you’ve stayed with them for long enough that all your scents have mingled like this, they must be good people. What’s your alpha like?_

 _He’s good. A good man. The best human I’ve ever met._ Feeling his fur prickle, he shakes himself with a soft huff and starts loping toward where he’d hidden his clothes and his crossbow before letting his Wild soul free. _He’ll treat you right._

When he shifts back, Bob turns away to give him some privacy, only swinging around again when Daryl nudges his flank. He’d forgotten how much bigger they are compared to humans; how much bigger they are compared to real wolves. It makes his breath catch to see such majesty, even if Bob looks like he could use a solid grooming to get all of the mud and blood out of his fur. “You got anything you need to grab ‘fore we head back?”

The wolf cocks his head, then yips once and trots back toward the deer. He keeps close, his senses tuned into the forest around him. He’s already gotten several rabbits and a squirrel, but maybe Bob can help him find a deer to bring back with them, something that will last the pack a good long while. They can’t bring back the one he’s already killed, for obvious reasons, but the woods are full of plump, healthy whitetails. It shouldn’t be too hard to track one.

Offering Bob the same courtesy of turning his back so the man can shift and get dressed, he winces at the low whine that mingles with the snap of bone and the pop of tendons. Does it really sound that painful? He’d never noticed before, even when Merle would shift. Turning around when he judges it to be safe, he watches the tall, thin black man pull his over shirt on and settle his pack over his shoulder, blinking in surprise. Huh. This isn’t what he expected the other wolf to look like as a human, for some reason.

“You look like you could use a shower and a shave,” he grunts, trying for humor. It must work, because Bob chuckles and rubs at his goatee.

“Yeah, that sounds just about heavenly right now. Got anywhere else you need to be?”

“Was thinkin’ of tryin’ to bag another deer, bring it back for everyone. Sound okay with you?”

“You could tell me you wanted to paint yourself with blood and run around a fire chanting to the gods and I’d say okay, just as long as you let me come back to camp with you when you’re done.”

The mental image makes him snort, and he shakes his head. “I think we’ll save that for the solstice,” he retorts dryly. That gets him a genuine laugh, and he smiles shyly, pleased, before he lifts his crossbow and jerks his head, a silent request for the other wolf to follow as he starts looking for tracks. Bob does, a gentle presence both in the physical and mental sense of the word. They’d been able to talk easily in their Wild bodies, but it wasn’t as clear and strong a connection as he’s used to sharing with Rick. At this point, though, he’s pretty much determined that their bond is a special case, and he’s done trying to pick it apart.

If only it was as easy for him to do that with how he feels about his alpha romantically, but he hasn’t been that lucky yet. Being around Rick makes his blood too warm, and there’s been an ache in his bones the last few days, a desire he doesn’t know how to name or what to do about, because he’s never felt it before. It’s the strongest when he’s around his alpha, so much so that he feels himself flush whenever Rick so much as glances at him, even if they’re across the room from each other.

Trying to get himself focused on his task, Daryl bites his lip to stifle the whine building just from the thought of the human, but then Bob speaks up and he almost shoots the man by accident because he’s so far in his own head.

“Do you have a mate, Daryl?”

“What?” he snaps, trying to get himself back on track and quell the shaking in his hands. “The fuck you askin’ me that for?”

“I’m asking because you smell like you’re going into heat.”

_Going into heat_

“The fuck does that even mean?” he barks, flustered and trying to figure out what Bob’s getting at. The man just looks at him like he’s something fascinating, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“I’ve never heard of male wolves going into heat before,” he murmurs, his nostrils flaring when he leans closer to inhale Daryl’s scent again. “I’ve heard of something like rut, but never heat. Is it because you’re a submissive wolf?”

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” Daryl bites out, feeling far too uncomfortable for this conversation. “I ain’t goin’ into fuckin’ heat, man. I ain’t nobody’s bitch.”

“I’ve upset you.” Bob gives him space, letting him breathe and calm down while he watches with a confused frown. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry. Whatever it is that you’re feeling, though, you can’t ignore it. It’s faint right now, but it’s going to get stronger until you _have_ to do something about it. That’s why I asked if you have a mate.”

“Ain’t got nobody. We done here? Got a deer to find.” Not giving the other man a chance to respond, he turns around quickly and goes back to tracking the small herd of deer he’s managed to lock onto, using the trail and the direction the wind is blowing to sneak up on them. There’s a buck and two does. He chooses the bigger one, taking aim carefully and waiting for the second doe to shift away just a few more inches before he pulls the trigger.

The bolt hits home, piercing the doe’s heart and sending the other two running. Rumbling in satisfaction, he steps forward to inspect the kill and retrieve his bolt, wiping it off with the rag he always keeps in his back pocket and then slotting it back into place with the other bolts. Bob watches as he quickly ties a rope around the doe’s hind legs, looking and smelling impressed.

“You’re really good at what you do, aren’t you?”

“Gotta be if I’m gonna feed my pack.” Looking between Bob and the rope, he chews his lip. “C’mere, help me find a sturdy branch. We’re gonna tie her legs to it and bring her back that way.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Bob grins and goes to find a branch.

 

 

 

They get the doe back just as dusk is starting to darken the sky. Maggie’s on watch this time, and she runs to pull the gate open, putting her full weight behind it because that metal is fucking heavy. As soon as they’re past it and in the inner gap between that gate and the chain-link one, he watches his packmate strain to haul the rusty slabs closed again before she lets them through. He already smells her curiosity over Bob, and introduces them with a quick, “Bob, Maggie; Maggie, Bob. New guy,” before he’s heading up the gravel driveway with Bob in tow, the man calling a cheerful greeting over his shoulder as they go.

Rick meets them just inside the yard, smelling strongly of relief and clean skin. He must have showered after he was done in the fields for the day, and then he waited for Daryl to come home even though he didn’t know how long he was going to be gone.

“That’s quite a haul,” he says approvingly as he follows them to the building set a little way away from the main part of the prison. Daryl has transformed it into the area where he cleans and guts his kills, figuring it’s safer to keep the people from seeing him covered in blood and gore, surrounded by buckets of entrails, every time they came into the kitchen after he got back. After they’re ready, he hands them over to whoever has kitchen duty that day, letting them turn the meat from bloody and raw to cooked and safe to eat.

“Got some rabbits, too,” Daryl grunts, his shoulder starting to ache something awful under the combined weight of the branch and the doe. He’s glad it’s getting darker out, glad Rick can’t see the way his cheeks are probably turning red. Bob can _smell_ it, though, and he makes a startled sound that pulls Rick’s attention to him instead.

“Hi, Bob Stookey. Sorry, didn’t see that ledge. Caught me off guard, is all. You must be the leader I was told about.”

“Nah, I’m just the farmer,” Rick chuckles. “We have a council. There isn’t a sole leader. They make the decisions. I just grow the vegetables.”

“Oh. Well, I’ve gotta say, it’s been a long time since I’ve had anything close to a carrot. You got any?”

“A few. Peas, too, that should be ready soon.”

“I can’t remember the last time I had peas that weren’t from a can. You might just be my new favorite person. You got a name?”

“Rick. Rick Grimes.”

“Well, Rick Grimes, I’m holding you to the promise of those carrots.”

His alpha laughs, the sound soothing Daryl even as it makes his blood burn hotter. When they get to the building, he watches the man pat Bob on the shoulder before glancing at the Daryl. “I’ll see you inside,” he says by way of goodbye, the words meant more for the archer. Shivering, he nods quickly and shows his neck, just like he always does. Nodding, Rick smiles and turns away, calling out to Tyreese as he walks away. Bob is staring at the back of his head as he gets the door open, his ears burning from embarrassment and the need roiling in his belly.

“You don’t say a fuckin’ thing,” he growls warningly as they finally set the doe on the ground and he works quickly to untie her so he can hang her up and set the buckets under her that he’ll use to catch the blood. He always dumps it down the sink in the kitchens after everyone’s left.

It’s cooler in here than it is outside, the walls doing a good job of keeping out the heat. He tosses the bag of rabbits onto a nearby table and draws his knife, cutting the doe’s throat quickly and staring at the blood as it drains from her rather than looking at the wolf behind him.

“I won’t tell anyone, Daryl, but you’ve got to figure out what you’re gonna do in a few days. That man’s an alpha if I ever saw one, human or not, and I know he’s _your_ alpha, council or no. It’s him, isn’t it?” He says this much more quietly, brushing comfortingly against Daryl’s mind to try and calm his rising distress. Maybe it’s the awareness of another Wild soul trying to offer him support, but it works, and he relaxes his jaw as he begins to eviscerate the doe’s carcass. He ignores the blood he gets on himself, bringing up a bucket for the coils of intestines and separating them from the rest of the organs. Doing this, preparing this meat for his pack, it’s a monotonous process that relaxes him more than any words could.

“When the time comes, I’ll do what I gotta,” he mutters distractedly. “Hell, I’ll go out on another hunt if that’s what it takes. Anything, so that he doesn’t…”

“You think he won’t accept you?” Bob snorts. “Man, as grateful as I am that you brought me into your pack, I gotta say that you’re pretty stupid.”

“The fuck did you just say?” Daryl turns with the knife gripped tightly to keep it from slipping out of his hand, because he’s covered in blood up to his forearms, with more soaking into his shirt and even a few smears on his throat and face. He bares his teeth, knowing exactly what he looks like right now as he growls.

The other wolf holds up his hands immediately, but he’s frowning heavily. “That man thinks you hung the damn moon. I met him for, what, three minutes, and even _I_ can see how much he cares about you. You don’t wanna tell these people about your wolf, that’s your decision, but don’t think for a second that he’d decline the offer if you made it.”

“He’s got two kids and a dead wife. He ain’t interested in anything I’d have to offer, so shut the fuck up about it and leave me be. Jesus fucking Christ.”

“What, you think because he was married he can’t swing the other way, too? There’s this thing called being bisexual. Ever heard of it?”

“You gonna stand there and run your mouth ‘bout things you ain’t got a fucking clue about, or are you gonna help me gut the rabbits? ‘Cause if you ain’t gonna help, you can go right ahead and leave. Didn’t bring you back to fuckin’ lecture me.”

Bob leaves, thank fuck, but something tells him that the other wolf isn’t done with their conversation. That doesn’t matter right now, because he’s blessedly alone to finish the task of skinning and preparing the meat. Once he’s done with the doe, throwing her hide to the side to be dealt with by someone else, he quickly skins and readies the rabbits. Grabbing the buckets of blood, he stalks across the eating area, where someone had hauled picnic tables into an organized mess so people could sit outside and enjoy the sun while they ate.

Carol is still in the kitchen, muttering to herself as she writes something down. When Daryl kicks the door open, his mood absolutely foul, she looks up and then rolls her eyes when she sees the state he’s in.

“You’d better get a shower before you come anywhere near the Block, Pookie,” she chastises him.

“Whatever,” he grunts, stalking past her to the bigger sink and dumping the blood down the drain. He washes the buckets out, thanking whoever had figured out a way to get the plumbing working. They still have to monitor how much they use, but with the rain barrels they’ve got set up, they’ve been doing pretty well.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” the older woman teases as he sets the buckets upside down to dry. He turns to face her, frowning and chewing on his lower lip.

“Nothin’,” he finally sighs. “Just tired as fuck. Brought back a doe and a few rabbits.”

“And a newcomer,” she supplies, smiling when he glances at her from where his gaze had dropped to the floor. “He seems like he’ll be a good fit. You did well, Daryl. Go shower, and then get some sleep. You’ve got watch around dawn, right?”

“Yeah.” Running a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes, ignoring the blood drying on his skin and the look on Carol’s face when he does it, he shoves himself away from the sink and heads toward the Block to get a change of clothes. “G’night.”

“Good night, Pookie.”

No one questions the blood he’s covered in. If anything, the few people he runs into look too relieved at the sight of it, because everyone knows what it means by now. The Woodbury folks thank him so profusely that it makes him edgy, coming across a little harsher than he means to when he cuts one woman off in the middle of her gratitude and walks away. He hurries through C Block, Judith’s sweet giggles floating from Beth’s cell and making the tightness in his shoulders ease. He nods to Carl, who’s half asleep over the comic he’s got spread out on the table in front of him, and the adolescent bobs his head sleepily. He’s really grown into himself even more since he started helping his father with the crops. Looking at him, Daryl can’t see him as a cub anymore, not like Judith and Patrick and, hell, even Beth still most days. He’s looking at a young man, for all that Carl’s probably only thirteen or fourteen by now. Sometimes he can see the way the kid looks out at the walkers, itching to pick up a gun again, but if he complains, Daryl’s never heard him.

He’s got the showers to himself when he gets there, and he’s quick to strip out of his bloody clothes and dump them in a corner. They’re probably a lost cause, even the jeans, so he’ll burn them in the morning. Chewing on his bottom lip, he pumps up the water and steps under the spray as soon as it starts, not even caring that the water’s cold even if he hisses at the shock of it. He’s spent years dipping in and out of streams, preferring to clean himself with natural-flowing water. This isn’t too bad, though, so he closes his eyes and scrubs as much blood from himself as he can before he picks up the soap and works up a thick lather to get him properly clean.

Rick’s mind brushes against his, and he sighs, feeling his alpha approaching but not bothering to cover himself. They’ve all seen every inch of one another more times than can be counted, whether it was to bathe or bandage an injury. Most of the others have seen his scars by now, but he still doesn’t like them to. Rick is probably the only person he doesn’t try to hide them from, so when he hears the tread of the man’s boots and the rustle of the shower curtain, he glances back but doesn’t turn around.

“Good day?” he asks quietly, his voice rasping out rougher than he means it to. Suddenly he can’t focus on the cold water, can only focus on the scent of gun oil and power as it fills his nose and makes him want to drop to his knees. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shampoos his hair a little more forcefully than is strictly necessary, listening to every move his alpha makes as he settles against the nearby wall.

“Yeah. Good hunt?”

“Yeah.”

“You think Bob will work out?”

 _More than you know._ “If not, we’ll send him on his way. Seems like a good enough guy, though.” Rinsing the suds out of his hair, he worries at his lip again until he tastes blood and isn’t completely successful in swallowing his whine when Rick’s presence settles heavily in his mind, blanketing every inch of him. His Wild blood burns, his wolf whimpers, and he tilts his head forward to hide his face beneath his soaked bangs.

“You okay, Daryl?”

“Mhm,” he grunts, glaring at his cock as it fills despite the freezing water. He _aches_ , feeling empty in a way he’s not familiar with, and he knows what it will take to fill that emptiness, what he needs to feel complete, but he _can’t_.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” It’s a question, but it’s not an uncertain one. It’s just Rick reminding him that Daryl can lean on him as much as he needs to, that he’s strong enough to hold the archer up if he can’t do it on his own. God fucking damn him, because all Daryl wants to do is rip the curtain down and _crawl_ to Rick; fit himself between his alpha’s thighs and give him his mouth after showing his throat. He wants to be claimed irrevocably, so that no one can dispute who holds his heart, and he knows, he _knows_ , that Rick will not take advantage of that. He knows what kind of man Rick is, can see everything even if no one else does. He sees the darkness that’s in his alpha’s mind, knows that power on an intimate level even if he’s never gotten to appreciate it in a physical way.

He wants to. Fuck Bob for pointing out what’s happening to him. Fuck that man for urging him to go for it, because it’s not that fucking easy.

“I know,” he whispers, breathy and low. He doesn’t touch himself, not like that, not while Rick is right there. When silence falls between them, comfortable but edged with growing tension, a storm on the horizon that promises to either bring violence or something else, he lets the water trickle to a stop and doesn’t move until Rick makes a quiet noise and leaves. Daryl doesn’t move for a while even after he can’t hear his alpha’s footsteps anymore, his eyes closed tightly, and then finally he steps out from behind the curtain and towels himself off roughly. He dresses quickly and tries not to run to the perch, where he can curl up in his nest and kick out of his pants. That’s exactly what he does, not even bothering to wriggle out of them completely before he’s biting his pillow to muffle his cries as he strokes himself and slides a few fingers of his other hand back behind his balls. He presses them up inside of himself, sobbing in desperation and despair when the slide is too smooth to be natural and he’s coming in seconds, feeling the way his rim clenches and flutters around the fingers he’s got pumping in and out of his hole. It’s not enough, barely even dampens his desire, doesn’t soothe the empty ache, and Daryl knows he’s in trouble.

He’s in so much fucking trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still accepting votes on how Daryl's wolf should be revealed!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl deals with his heat, and shit goes from bad to worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POLL IS CLOSED.
> 
> So. Um. Don't hate me. Please.
> 
> SURPRISE.

Carl comes and finds him before he has to take Judith to the administrative wing, smelling like smoky sorrow and bitter ashes. Daryl knows that’s because of Patrick, and he completely understands the teenager’s feelings. Finding Patrick like that has shaken the archer badly, he’s just trying not to show it. It’s been nearly a week since he brought Bob to the prison, and his heat is almost in full swing. When he’d finally caved and admitted what it was, realizing that he couldn’t just pretend everything was okay after the second pair of jeans he’d had to burn—after the second time Rick touched his throat and he’d almost buckled and dropped to his knees and  _begged_ —the other wolf had been quick to help him figure out what he could do. He was supposed to go out on a run with the man, just the two of them, and then the screaming had started and they’d all come running, finding D Block overrun by sickness and walkers.

“He was my friend,” Carl whispers, his voice too dull and his eyes shuttered. He’s trying to be strong, but his scent betrays the depth of his sorrow. Daryl draws him in, giving him a quick but firm one-armed hug before letting go. At least touching him doesn’t make the archer want to vibrate out of his skin with need, because that would just be _wrong_.

“He was a good kid,” he mutters, wanting to whine when he thinks of the cub, and everyone else they’ve already lost. They’re going to lose more people, the scent of sickness and blood overshadowed by the cold stench of death already permeating the air. The losses are going to be heavy, and he sends a quick, fervent prayer to whatever god is listening that none of his pack suffers the same fate Patrick has. A cough should not be a death sentence, no matter what the world has become. A cold shouldn’t be enough to kill someone in less than a day. This isn’t a normal cold, though—Hershel doesn’t seem to think so, at least, and there’s plenty of evidence to support that.

“I’m worried about Judith,” the young man confesses. Daryl closes his eyes at that, thinking of their baby girl and strangling the whimper he can feel building in his throat. _God, not her. Don’t let it happen to her._

“Don’t be, kid,” he grunts. “She’s a strong baby. Now get gone, ‘fore yer Daddy comes lookin’ for you. Shouldn’t be near me anyway.”

Thin, wiry arms wrap around his chest, taking him by surprise. He’s still not comfortable with much physical contact, especially not like this. He gives quick half-hugs sometimes, and he’ll hold Judith all night if he can, but hugs like what Carl is giving him right now make him twitchy at the best of times. With him getting further into his heat, constantly desperate and clenching around the—God, the _tampon_ he had to shove up his ass, the only thing he could think of to stop the slick leaking out of him—any prolonged contact is too much. It might not affect him the same way touching Rick does right now, but it’s still not pleasant. This is Carl, though, and he’s upset, so Daryl pats him awkwardly on the shoulder and then pushes him away as gently as he can manage.

“Go on,” the archer rasps. “Gotta get ready for that run anyway.”

“The one to the veterinary place?” Carl backs away, hovering just out of reach. Daryl nods, and the teenager mirrors it. “Good luck.” And then he’s hurrying away, slipping past Michonne with a quick hello. Daryl grinds his teeth and watches the woman approach, glad that his _problem_ isn’t showing much aside from his increased agitation and a faint blush high on his cheeks that can be easily explained away by adrenaline or sunburn or anything else than what it actually is.

“You okay?” she asks as soon as she’s in range, her soft, raspy voice even quieter than usual. He nods tightly and catches the way her eyes narrow from behind the curtain of her dreadlocks, which are barely contained by the wrap she’s using to hold them back. “You don’t look okay.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to look after what happened?” he snaps, trying not to lose his temper with her. He looks across the yard and watches Rick talking to Carl, his alpha’s body tense as he gestures at his son. Their eyes meet briefly, stormy blue catching and holding him just as easily as always, and he clenches around the tampon as he tilts his head, just enough to bare his throat, and tries not to beg too noticeably without saying a goddamn word.

_Fuck._

“So you aren’t okay.” Michonne steps closer, coming to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, following the line of his gaze to Rick. “You gonna tell him?” she asks out of fucking nowhere, and Daryl jolts like she’s just stabbed him.

“Tell him what?” _She doesn’t know. There’s no way she knows. I’ve been too careful. Bob promised not to tell anyone. She can’t know._

“That you’re in love with him.” It’s stated so plainly, so boldly, like there’s no question of it in her mind. Fuck, has he really been that transparent? At the same time, he can’t help but be relieved that that’s all she’s figured out. Michonne is a lot smarter than people realize, he thinks. Most others take her silence to mean something other than what it is. She’s quiet, but she’s not stupid, and she sees a lot more than she says.

Scoffing, trying not to sputter, Daryl turns away from her and heads toward the car. He has a brief pang of sadness when he sees it, because it was Zach’s car, and that boy babied it. That was a bad run—nearly losing Bob, losing _Zach_ , and now losing more people in one morning than they have in weeks. “No clue what you mean.”

“Sure, Daryl. Okay. Is Tyreese coming with us?”

“Dunno. Told him he could if he wanted. Whether he does or not is up to him.”

Choosing to bury himself under the hood of the car to make sure it’ll get them where they need to go—even though he knows it will, because Zach really did baby this thing—he listens to her walk away, listens to Bob’s quick approach, and glances up at the other wolf as soon as he comes close enough. “Fuck you for pointing this shit out,” he growls quietly.

Bob doesn’t laugh, looking tense and worried as his eyes sweep quickly over Daryl like he’s checking for some visible sign of something that he won’t find. “You gonna be okay on this run?” he asks quietly, sidling up close so that they’re not overheard. “You can sit this one out, y’know. We can still get out into the woods. It might be easier for you to get through this as a wolf. I’m not even sure you need me for this run.”

“C’mere.” Standing, Daryl pulls out the list of medication Hershel’s written for them, pointing to the first word on it. “What’s that say?”

Bob pronounces it, and even hearing him say it means nothing to the archer. Nodding decisively, he glances at the wolf and sees Bob’s tenseness morph to unhappy understanding. He has to come, and Daryl needs to be there. They have no other option.

“Yeah, we need you.”

 

 

 

Fury sings in his blood, the Wild responding with its own howl as he ignores Tyreese calling for him to stand down and knocks his forehead against Bob’s to force him backwards several steps, baring his teeth and watching the beta look away in shame. He almost ruined _everything_ , and for what? A bottle of alcohol for when it gets _quiet_? When they’re all dead like his last two groups like he seems to assume they will be? He’s been around them, around _Daryl_ , long enough to know that they’re not just gonna lay down easily and accept whatever comes their way. They’re gonna fight it, gonna _survive_ , and that’s all there is to it.

“You take one sip,” he snarls, low and deadly, “before those meds get in our people,” _our_ people, you stupid fucker, my _pack_ , “and I will _beat your ass into the ground_.”

He’s going to do that anyway, and Bob knows it. As soon as they get this medicine into the sick people at the prison, as soon as they can get away into the woods, Daryl’s going to rip into him with an unholy vengeance, and Bob is going to let him, because even if he’s a beta and Daryl’s in the crippling grip of his heat, he’s not some simpering omega who wilts at the first sign of dominance.

Bob brushes against his mind, reeking of remorse and frustration at his own shortcomings, but Daryl’s having none of it. He shoves himself away, spinning and stalking past everyone else, Tyreese tense and worried, Michonne quietly contemplative as her eyes follow him. He’s not in the mood for any of it, lifting his crossbow and firing into the knot of walkers reaching for them and hissing.

“Let’s fuckin’ go,” he barks, settling his bow over his shoulder and drawing his knife. He doesn’t look to see if they’re following because he knows they are, their steps quickening when he jumps down onto the first clear patch of ground he sees and starts stabbing walkers with a fury he can’t control, mingled sexual frustration and need only adding fuel to the fire and working him into a frenzy that leaves most of the walkers dead before the others can even join him. They probably think he’s just taking his anger at Bob out on the only available outlet, which works just fine for him.

By now, his heat is burning through him, leaving him thirsty and aching for something that isn’t the tampon, something that will get a hell of a lot deeper and feel a hell of a lot better. He grits his teeth, the pangs of need nearly enough to make his eyes blur, but he refuses to give in. He _can’t_ give in. The needs of the pack come before his, just like they always have. Only once he’s sure his family is safe and has what they need will he slink away.

By the time they reach the prison, he’s worried the jasper stone he picked up with his thumb so much he’ll barely even need to polish it, and it’s dark, and Rick and Carl are the ones letting them in. He gets out of the minivan they grabbed after the disaster of losing Zach’s car, slamming the door and watching it pull away before he looks at his alpha and gives in to his desire just a little bit, leaning closer and breathing the man in.

“How’s everyone holdin’ up?” he rumbles, searching Rick’s face after meeting his eyes briefly. The man grips his shoulder hard enough to bruise, and if not for the tampon he’s pretty sure this pair of jeans would be a lost cause. As it is, he knows he’ll have to replace it, soon, because he can feel a bit of slick leaking out around it now and it makes him shudder.

“Gonna be a hell of a lot better now that you guys are back,” his alpha admits. Daryl nods tightly, looking at Carl and then at the slew of dead walkers.

“You guys okay?”

“Yeah, we handled it. We can reinforce the fence, figure out a better way to hold it up. You okay, Daryl?” Rick tilts his head to catch his eyes, trying to hold his gaze. He can’t, though, because if he does, he knows he’ll break, and out of all the ways he’s thought about his alpha finding out the truth about him, this is not the way he’s going to let it happen. He _refuses_ to let it happen this way.

“Just worried about our people. Hopin’ we got back in time.”

“Glenn’s sick.”

Daryl masks his whine with a strangled grunt, his eyes snapping toward the prison. “He’s a tough kid. He’ll make it. We’ve got medicine now.” The idea of anything different isn’t possible. Glenn’s a lot stronger than anyone gives him credit for, and if anyone can beat this sickness, he knows it’s the Asian man.

“Yeah, he is. Thank you, Daryl. You’ve probably just saved a lot of lives.”

“Weren’t just me.” Glancing at his alpha, he tips his head slightly, eyes fluttering closed when the familiar thumb rubs against his pulse point. As much as he wants to enjoy the contact, he knows he can’t, not like this. So he pulls away and heads for the prison, gravel crunching under his boots; under Rick and Carl’s too as they follow.

 

 

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“We’re gonna need meat, Rick,” Daryl growls, trying not to pace too much. “What we’ve got’s either nearly gone, or goin’ bad since no one was able to cook it. Once everyone’s good enough to handle solids, they’re gonna need the protein. ‘S just for a day or two.” _Or three. Or four. Depending on how long it takes until I stop wanting to throw you down and sit on your cock until I’m filled with you._ Shit. Shit. Bad thoughts. Closing his eyes tightly, the archer rubs at his face, palms rough against his cheeks and scraping over the stubble.

“I’ll come with you, then.”

“Hell no,” he refuses, a little more forcefully than he’d meant to. Gentling his voice, he shakes his head. “They need you here. Judith and Carl need you. I’ll take Bob.”

“We need you too, Daryl. And him.”

“I’ve shown Hershel how to administer the medicine,” Bob pipes up. Daryl twitches as he paces to the window and stares out. “Not that I needed to. He’s well versed in intravenous and intramuscular dosing. Daryl’s right, Rick. What those people are gonna need is meat. When’s the last time you ate anyway?”

In the end, Rick knows that they’re right, even if he doesn’t like it. Daryl barely waits for Bob to grab his pack before they’re outside of the prison fences, walking quickly toward the woods. They cross the sturdy little bridge that spans the winding stream they get their water from, and he can’t help but trace his eyes over the few bullet holes that are there, remembering the day he burst out of the woods to the sound of gunfire and his home being attacked. They’d rallied, though, and they’d survived. They’re still surviving, even despite every curveball thrown at them.

“Shift,” Daryl growls, dropping his bag and setting his crossbow against the nearest tree before he drags his shirt over his head. The dawn air is cool against his bare skin, but he barely feels it through the heat making his blood burn. Dropping his pants, he glances at Bob, who’s already turned away from him, and then quickly yanks out the saturated tampon and throws it as far from him as he can. Slick immediately pours out now that there’s nothing keeping it in, wetting the backs of his thighs and filling the air with the ripe scent of fertility and take-me-now pheromones. Clenching his teeth, he throws open the connection to his Wild blood and shifts, hearing Bob do the same.

 _You can’t keep going like this, Daryl,_ the other wolf whines as he slinks closer, body pressed low to the ground. He leans close, trying to nuzzle the archer’s pale shoulder, but Daryl snarls and snaps at him, letting him know he’s pushing his luck.

 _Ain’t got a fuckin’ choice_ , he spits. Like this, as a wolf, the need doesn’t burn as badly. It’s still enough to make him lay his ears flat and whine, still enough to make him _ache_ , but putting space between himself and Rick helps him keep it under control, even if leaving his alpha when he literally needs him most makes him feel maudlin at the same time. This is his choice, though, and he’s right—it can’t be another way.

 _If you’d just_ tell _him_ -

 _Tell him what, Bob? “Oh, hey, by the way, I turn into a giant fucking wolf and I’m kind of in heat right now, wanna fuck me? Don’t worry about lubrication, either, I’ve already got that covered.” Yeah, that’ll work._ Daryl’s mind voice is thick with sarcasm, shaded by a whine, and he’s so furious at everything right now that he bites at Bob again. _Don’t think I’m not still going to beat your ass to a fucking pulp, you stupid motherfucker. Fuck you for even thinking of yourself before them._

Bob doesn’t try to defend himself. He knows he fucked up. When Daryl finally does lunge at him, too worked up and needing some kind of outlet, the black wolf hardly even fights back, yelping in pain and whining as Daryl thrashes him good and proper until some of the burn in his muscles is from exertion and he’s panting for an entirely different reason. Despite his anger and agitation, he doesn’t _really_ hurt the other wolf, because he knows they need the former combat medic too much to fatally wound him. He ends the assault with a bite to the shoulder he knows the other will feel for a while, and then he finally backs off and glares.

_C’mon. We’ve got hunting to do._

The beta nods meekly, licking his shoulder in apology, and the archer huffs but nuzzles him anyway. _Stop fuckin’ doing that. ‘M not an alpha._

_No, but you are pack, and you’re hurting. Doesn’t have to be about rank all the time, Daryl._

Flicking an ear, he chooses to run rather than respond. Bob stays right at his shoulder, not dropping back or pulling ahead. He doesn’t try to take the dominant position, even though he could, and that confuses Daryl. He’s not used to another wolf who doesn’t seem to give one iota of a fuck about pack dynamics. When they’d first met, Bob had taken a more dominant stance, but he hasn't tried to reinforce it since then. Hell, the archer is pretty sure that the only reason the black wolf had done it then was because they didn’t know each other, and they needed to test the waters, as it were. Ever since, Bob has been easy-going and helpful, never once trying to pin Daryl or pull rank.

The black wolf is worlds different than Merle, who had been an alpha and only seemed to care sometimes about reminding his brother of that. Their Daddy had been the same way, although _he’d_ been happier to teach with tooth and claw, reminding them of his rank in ways that often left them bleeding in and out of their wolf bodies. Neither one of them were sterling examples of good, benevolent leaders. Not like Rick.

Bob’s not an alpha, but he is a beta. By all rights, that means that Daryl should defer to him, and Rick should seek his council before Daryl’s. Rick isn’t a wolf, though, and he’s known Daryl for a lot longer than he’s known Bob. That kind of thing matters to humans.

_Got something on your mind, Daryl? I can hear your thoughts from over here. How intensely you can focus when your mind is that chaotic is pretty impressive._

Slowing to a stop, he huffs and shakes himself like that will be enough to make the heat leave his bones. _Why don’t you try to pull rank?_ He has to ask it, because it’s just going to eat at him until he knows. _Why’d you let me thrash you? You’re a beta. You shouldn’t put up with a more submissive wolf going after you like that._

 _Is that what you’re used to?_ Bob sounds honestly curious and not at all condescending. Daryl whines, licking his lips nervously and ducking his head, and the black wolf lowers his own to catch his averted gaze. _Hey, it’s okay. C’mon, Daryl, look at me._ When he does, his ears flat and his scent uncertain, the other wolf yips and finally nudges his shoulder. _This isn’t about pack dynamics anymore. I never really even made it about them before. Never had an alpha, not like you’ve got Rick. I guess I was always more human than wolf. Stop worrying that I’m going to pull rank, if that’s what’s bugging you. I’m perfectly happy with my place in the pack._

Maybe that’s the difference, then. Because Daryl has always been more wolf than human. Some days, he can balance the two, but more often than not his Wild soul bleeds through into how he does things, how he reacts to the situations around him. It’s never been a problem until now, not until his attraction toward Rick, his submissive behaviors toward the human alpha, made it one.

 _Why is this only happening now?_ Giving in to his restlessness, the pale wolf begins to pace, dropping his head and whining in frustration. Bob sends a flutter of confusion his way, not understanding. _Been around plenty of alphas before. My brother was one, and our Daddy. Ran into a lot of wannabes, too. None of them have ever made me like **this**._ Baring his teeth, he knocks his head hard against the trunk of the nearest tree, trying so hard to distract himself.

Bob offers him comfort, pressing his face against Daryl’s shaggy side and licking at his shoulder, rumbling softly and trying to ease his distress. _Maybe it’s because you never felt this way about any of them. Something in you called to something in Rick, and when he responded, even if he didn’t know it… We don’t get to choose who we fall in love with, Daryl. As a submissive wolf, you knew that none of those other alphas were what you needed. We may be human, too, but we all have that desire to find the one we’ll be with forever. Wolves mate for life. Maybe you were just waiting for the right alpha to come along._

 _Oh my god, you sound like a fucking soap opera._ It makes sense, though, and that’s what sucks about it, because he can’t have Rick right now no matter how badly he wants him.

 _Can you imagine if they made a soap opera about werewolves? Bet the ratings would go through the roof._ Bob laughs and licks his shoulder again, wagging his tail and huffing before nudging Daryl hard enough to make him stumble a bit. His scent is broadcasting _play with me_ , his eyes glowing with it.

 _Pretty sure MTV already did make a show about it. Was about teenagers or something. God, I was never that fucking whiny when I was that age._ Eying the beta, he contemplates the idea of chasing him, the two of them romping through the woods like cubs without a care in the world. The approaching hiss of walkers kills that possibility pretty quickly, and he growls as he turns to look at the corpses staggering their way. _Looks like we’ve got company. We’ll take care of these fuckers, and then we’ll hunt._

 _Fine,_ Bob sighs, his mind-voice light with a playful pout. _You owe me a play-wrestle, though. Don’t think I’ll forget._

_Yeah, whatever. Remind me later. We’ve got shit to do first._

_Such a hardass._

_Fuck you._

_You’re not my type, pretty boy. I know a farmer who might be interested, though. I’ll introduce you later._

_Oh my god, fuck you._ He feels better, though, lighter, and when the walkers get within range, he makes their deaths quick, hearing Bob’s snarls as the black wolf does the same. When the three of them are dead, the wolves share a glance, an understanding, and shift back to human before heading deeper into the forest. They’ll have time for fun later. Right now, they’ve got a pack to feed.

 

 

 

When they return from their hunt three days later, Daryl’s heat has mostly dissipated, and he and Bob have managed to snag a young buck as well as more rabbits, and a string of squirrels. Some of the sick people are well enough to be let out of Death Row, and seeing Hershel out and about relieves him more than he’d thought it would. He calls out to him, asking after Carol, and is immediately wary about the way the human’s scent turns when he tells him to find Rick.

“Where is she?” Did she get sick? Is that why he hadn’t seen her before he left with Bob?

“She’s okay, just talk to Rick.”

“You want me to get these?” Bob asks him quietly. Daryl shakes his head, feeling his stomach knotting itself up with a different kind of tension that makes him feel nauseous instead of needy.

“Nah, just help me get ‘em to the shack, and then get some fuckin’ sleep. I’ll take care’a them and then go find Rick, like Hershel said.”

He can tell the other wolf is worried, the scent of burned coffee filling his nose again, but he doesn’t press further. After they’ve got the deer strung up, he shoos the medic away with a look and a firm order to get some fucking rest. Bob squeezes his shoulder quickly, trying to offer him some form of comfort, and then he goes. Sighing, Daryl runs a hand through his hair, making a face when his bangs fall right back into his eyes again. Truth be told, he doesn’t mind how long his hair’s getting, even though he’s never let it grow out like this before. He’d always kept it shorter because it made it harder for his Daddy to grab it and drag him off somewhere, even if he managed to find other ways to do that anyway.

Skinning and gutting the squirrels and the rabbits first, the archer tries to sink into the monotonous detachment he usually finds himself drifting in when he’s preparing his kills. He can’t quite manage it this time, too on edge after Hershel’s cryptic words. One of the squirrels gets butchered pretty badly, so he just ends up eating it rather than adding it to the rest of the ones he’s finished, the raw meat still somewhat warm and rich on his tongue. It’s not the first raw thing he’s consumed in his human body—not by far. He knows it won’t make him sick, so it’s not a big deal. The last time he ate raw squirrel was after he’d fallen down the side of the embankment while looking for Sophia, way back when they’d been at Hershel’s farm.

Shit, things sure have changed.

Wiping at his bloody mouth and only succeeding in smearing more blood across his face, Daryl sniffs and glances at the buck. As much as he wants to go and talk to his alpha, he can’t just leave the deer, so he gets to work. Maybe he’s going a little too fast, being a little too careless with how he cuts and where his hands are in relation to the knife, but he comes out unscathed and leaves the buckets of blood and entrails, too impatient now to get rid of them. It would be a bad idea to haul them to the kitchen in the middle of the day, anyway, especially with people around who are too weak from illness to stomach the sight. He’s gonna have to sneak past all of them anyhow, since he’s covered in blood again.

Miracles must exist, because he doesn’t run into a single person on his way to the showers. The only people in C Block are Beth, Judith and Carl, two of whom are sleeping. Carl’s used to seeing him covered in blood, so the kid just nods at him, looking a little sad but otherwise okay. Daryl nods quickly, taking the steps up to the perch as quietly as he can to grab some clothes before he’s hauling ass to the showers and scrubbing himself down. He’s gonna have to burn this set of clothes, too, since they’re covered in filth from the woods beneath all of the blood, and that’s become a habit for him lately.

As soon as he’s satisfied, he’s grabbing his towel and drying off before pulling his clothes back on. It feels so nice to be clean, and not only that, but to know he can wear the jeans he’s pulling on without having to worry about slick soaking through them in a matter of minutes. He’s dry and mostly back to normal aside from a lingering ache in his bones, but he’ll take that over what he’d have to deal with otherwise.

Reaching out with his mind, he finds Rick easily and brushes against his alpha’s awareness, nudging shyly the way he would nuzzle at the man’s shoulder if they were both wolves. He gets a nudge in return, satisfied warmth seeping into him from his alpha but not quite able to mask the tense wariness underneath. Frowning, Daryl picks up the pace and makes it to C Block the same time as the other man, looking him up and down for the first time in days and unable to help the way he automatically tilts his head and drops his gaze.

“Hershel said to come find you,” he murmurs. “What’s up? Everyone okay?”

“Need to talk to you,” Rick replies quietly, rubbing his thumb against the archer’s pulse briefly. This time, though, he doesn’t pull away the way he usually does. This time, he drags his thumb down Daryl’s jugular vein until he reaches the soft, supple leather of his vest. His eyes darken briefly, stormy blue becoming turbulent with something else, something Daryl doesn’t know how to name. “C’mon.”

They end up on the second level, far enough away to have some semblance of privacy if they keep their voices down. Daryl waits, tense and trying not to pace as he looks at his alpha and tries to prepare himself for whatever it is the man has to tell him. Rick looks like he’s trying to gather his thoughts, trying to work out how to start what’s already promising to be a bad conversation, so the wolf waits, the Wild already stirring.

“I banished Carol while you guys were gone.”

The world stops. Daryl freezes, feeling the blood drain from his face. Then everything starts moving again, speeding up to make up for shuddering to a halt those brief, horrible seconds, and he tries not to explode.

“You _what_?”

“I banished her. I had to.”

Pacing, he bites his thumb until he tastes blood and tries to process what he’s hearing. His wolf is whining, his instincts screaming at him to go out and find his missing packmate. Whirling on Rick, he growls and gets in his alpha’s face.

“You couldn’t wait until we got back?!”

“Until _Tyreese_ got back?”

“I could’a handled him,” the archer growls, glaring down over the railing and trying to calm the Wild rising in him. The only reason that man is alive anyway is because he’d gone after Daryl first after he’d showed them the bodies. When he’d turned on Rick, it would have been game over, but his alpha can handle himself, and he had. He remembers Carol’s face when they’d gone after each other, her genuine fear masking the faint scent of what she’d done. He’d been too distracted to pay enough attention to it at the time, waiting to go for Tyreese’s throat if he had to; how she’s smelled faintly of blood and the traces of gasoline she’d tried to wash from her skin.

He should have seen it sooner.

“I had no choice,” his alpha says, trying to stress it, trying to make Daryl understand as he catches his eyes and pleads his case. “She killed two of our own, Daryl. She couldn’t be here when you got back.”

“So, what, you took her out and dumped her somewhere?” Why would Rick do that? No matter what she did, Carol is _pack_. She’s _family_. If she killed Karen and Dave, she must have had a reason.

“I helped her find a car. Gave her some supplies.” Rick refuses to let him hide, catching his gaze when he tries to turn away. “Hey,” he rumbles, that single word tinged with command, and Daryl’s helpless to do anything but obey and meet his alpha’s determined eyes. “She wasn’t sorry. Said she did it for us. I couldn’t have her here, Daryl. I _won’t_.”

“What about them two girls?” he protests. Carol had bonded with those cubs, had taken them under her wing, and now she’s gone. What are they supposed to do with Lizzie and Mika?

“I told her we’d take care of them, and we will.”

Rick’s not going to back down. His alpha has made his decision, and he feels it is right. He’s not going to bend no matter what anyone says, and Daryl knows that. He doesn’t like it, but he can’t fight it, can’t fight Rick. Not with the last traces of his heat still making him more sensitive than he normally would be. All he can do is nod reluctantly, whining so softly that Rick doesn’t hear him even with how close they are to one another, his eyes burning and his sorrow running deep and fast like a river through his mind. He feels the gentle brush of Bob’s concern against the fringes of his awareness, slightly distorted by static; the stronger touch of Rick’s mind as it curls around his own and settles into every crevice, reaffirming their bond after days of them being apart. His heart aches from Carol’s loss, the thought of his packmate out in the world alone, without any of them to help her, enough to make him want to howl in misery.

Before he can do anything, before either of them can say anything else, an explosion rocks the prison and sends them stumbling. Daryl grabs the closest thing he can find to keep himself upright, his eyes wide with surprise and fear as the scent of panic and smoke fills his nose. Rick looks at him, eyes dark and fierce, and then they’re both running as fast as they can.

“Get Judith somewhere safe!” his alpha barks at Beth, who is white-faced and shaking. She nods quickly, hurrying to grab the crying baby, and Daryl’s reaching out for the cub’s mind before he’s even thinking about it, rumbling softly and trying to soothe her. She settles, but only slightly, her crying more akin to whimpers now than the terrified caterwauling she’d been doing previously. “Carl, come on!”

The boy is already at the entrance to the Block, tight-lipped and ready. Daryl falls in behind them, keeping close to his alpha and his son as they bolt toward the yard. His wolf is howling, calling to the rest of the pack, his mind reaching out in so many directions it’s a miracle he can even keep himself focused on where he’s going and avoid running into a wall. His Wild blood is roaring in response to the threat, his bones creaking as he fights his shift with everything he has, knowing he won’t be able to hold it back if things go much farther south.

They slam through the door and out into the blinding sunlight, the smell of fire and burning wood even more palpable out in the open air. His instincts are running the show right now, swinging him toward the fields; screaming at him to _protect the pack, protect them all_ as he stares across the open space separating him from the tank that’s idling right outside the perimeter fences. How the fuck did he not hear that thing coming? How did none of them hear it?

“Oh my fucking god,” he rasps, because he recognizes the man standing on that tank—that face, and the eye patch, and the air of haughty entitlement he wears like a cloak. “ _Rick_.”

“I see him,” the man growls, the air flooding with the presence of power so intense he can’t bite back his whimper.

“Rick,” the Governor calls out, triumphant and acting like he’s already won. He beckons with the gun in his hand, tilting his head and lifting his chin in a way that has nothing to do with submission and everything to do with the power-play he’s got going on. “Let’s have that talk.”

Daryl’s mind is running a mile a minute, his eyes jumping over every person who’s come into the yard. Most of them are his pack, but they’re so few, the majority of the survivors still too weak to do much good. They have to try, though, they have to do _something_ , so while Rick walks down the driveway, radiating fury even if he looks mostly calm, the archer does his best to arm everyone with the weapons they have on hand, muttering instructions for them to make for the bus if it looks like things are going badly. They’ve planned for this, for a situation like this, and that makes him feel a bit better about their chances.

Then the Governor’s people haul out Hershel and Michonne, and his Wild blood burns so hotly, his wolf snarling and foaming at the mouth. He can’t hear anything anymore, the gun creaking beneath his clenched fingers as he watches and waits, tense and desperate, because there’s no way this is going to end well.

He’s right.

They all watch, horrified, as the Governor raises Michonne’s sword. As he puts it to Hershel’s neck and Rick’s voice becomes desperate, pleading. For a second, it looks like he’s gotten through to the psychopath. He listens, and the sword edges away from his packmate’s soft, tender throat. Daryl grits his teeth and whines, oblivious to the look Carl is giving him. He can feel the fur rippling down his spine, can feel his teeth shifting and his claws growing.

One word, one soft word: “Liar.”

Daryl didn’t know it was possible to destroy so many lives with one little word.

The sword swings, and blood sprays, and the world erupts, _Daryl_ erupts, as Rick howls and his pack screams and his control shatters, the Wild tearing free with a monstrous roar.

Daryl shifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a horrible, horrible person, I know.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prison falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played with canon again, you guys. It was the only way I could think to keep in key points of the attack on the prison while still having Daryl wolf out and go apeshit. I hope it's acceptable.
> 
> I spent the hour and a half before work, and all of my break, typing snippets of this on my phone, because I couldn't wait to get home. I almost forgot to eat lunch, because I was so focused on le Daryl.
> 
> Enjoy, my lovelies~

It’s hard to hear anything over the roar of blood in his ears—over the sounds of gunfire and screaming and walkers. Daryl doesn’t even hear Carl shout in surprise and scramble away from the nine hundred-plus pounds of pale, rabid wolf that has suddenly manifested beside him where the archer had stood just seconds ago, exploding into life with a roar and the sound of tearing fabric. None of it gets through, a haze settling heavily over his mind and blocking out everything that isn’t important. Only one thing matters.

_Kill._

Daryl’s ready to jump the fence in front of him, or hell, even plow _through_ it, when the tank starts rolling forward and tears down their defenses like a child kicking over a flimsy stick structure. People are flooding in, on foot and accompanied by the roar of vehicles and the rat-tat-tat of machine guns; the deeper retort of rifles and handguns. Snarling, with foam dripping from his lips, he slinks around the barricades they’d never taken down, muscles liquid and eyes black as he hunts.

_Kill them._

It doesn’t matter if he’s ripping into humans or walkers—it makes no difference, so long as the blood he spills with a vengeance isn’t his pack’s. When he emerges from the smoke, his fur stained red and with death in his eyes, his prey screams and runs, their weapons forgotten and their lives already forfeit.

_Kill them all._

Maggie appears in front of him suddenly, pale and crying, her gun held in a white-knuckled grip as she looks at him. “Daryl,” she whispers, and he starts to move past her, his eyes fixed on the tank as it crawls closer. “Daryl!” A shout this time, enough to make him turn his head and growl at her as bloody foam drips from his jaws. She swallows, shaking, but holds her ground and meets his stare. “We have to go, Daryl,” she implores him, trying to make him see reason, see anything beyond the red covering his mind and dulling everything else. The tank grinds to a halt and takes aim again.

The skywalk explodes in a roar of fire and debris.

_Make them suffer._

Daryl runs past her. Walkers reach for him, hungry and hissing, drawn by the life that pumps through him. He kills them without slowing down, with no mercy, thundering forward until Rick appears, bloody and bellowing his fury, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth, and slams a grenade down the canon barrel before spinning out of the way, ducking low and running as it detonates. Fire erupts from the belly of the machine, the blast knocking everyone else down and flattening his fur.

Rick looks up, looks at him, his eyes black with rage, his fury a siren song that mirrors Daryl’s own. The wolf tilts his head, baring his throat to his alpha, and the man nods once before he’s loping into the smoke, scooping up the first gun he can find and firing at the people still fighting.

The haze clears, the berserker adrenaline retreating just enough for him to realize what they all have to know; what Maggie has already tried to make him see.

The prison has fallen. Their home is lost, and is being overrun by the undead in numbers they cannot hope to combat.

They have to leave.

He finds Beth on her own, after watching the bus roll away. She looks so lost until he nudges her, forgetting to temper his strength and nearly knocking her down because of it. When she turns to him, her eyes wet and red, her scent of devastation and loss burns his nose even more than the smoke. He flicks his ear and brushes against her mind.

_We gotta go, Beth._

She nods, and he realizes she’s got his crossbow slung over her narrow shoulders; his vest hanging from her slender frame. How she found that, and in mostly one piece, he doesn’t know. She looks so small, so painfully young. It makes his heart break even more. There’s no time for anything else, so he lowers his head and swings himself around to give her his side, crouching down and waiting impatiently; huffing out a sharp sound when she just stands there, staring. He barks, jerking his head, and realization dawns swiftly on the girl’s face. Then she’s scrambling onto his back, her grip too tight and yanking at his bloody fur. He ignores it. He has to.

Daryl runs. He runs until his sides are heaving and his muscles burn. He runs until he can’t smell the prison burning and his lungs ache from smoke inhalation and oxygen deprivation. He keeps going even when he feels like he can’t, with Beth clinging to his back and sobbing, because he doesn’t have a choice. He’s never been the kind of man to just lay down when things looked bad. He’s always been a survivor. He’s never accepted any other alternative.

He’s tired. His mind is empty but for himself for the first time in so, so long. He can’t feel Rick, can’t hear his alpha or anyone else, has no way of knowing if anyone else escaped, if the bus made it, if he and Beth are the only ones who got out. If the rest of their family, their _pack_ , is dead.

The wolf stumbles, Beth thrown with a surprised cry as he tumbles to the ground and rolls nose-over-tail, too numb to care about dignity as he lands in an ungraceful heap and pants for air. Small hands touch his muzzle, brushing over his closed eyes, and he whines pitifully as soon as he has the air for it. “Daryl,” Beth is whispering, _sobbing_ , her sweet voice broken and lost. _So, so lost._ “Daryl, you have to get up. We have to keep moving. We have to find somewhere safe.”

There is no place safe enough anymore. The only safe place they’d had has gone up in flames because of a psychopath who refused to let them have peace.

“Please, I need you,” the girl begs, and he finally cracks open his eyes. She’s still petting him, trying to soothe his despair as well as her own. It shouldn’t be like this. She’s a cub, he should be comforting _her_ , not the other way around. He’s just so empty, so numb, desperately reaching for the comfort of his alpha’s mind but unable to find it. The one connection he had, the man who gave him everything and accepted what little he could offer in return, is gone.

Beth isn’t, though. She’s scared, and hurting; has lost just as much as him. He can’t lead her, can’t be Rick, or her father, but he can protect her for as long as they have left. He has to. His Wild blood will accept nothing less; demands that he protects this cub, no matter what. It’s what his alpha would expect him to do.

Daryl gets up.

 

 

 

No matter how much Beth begs, and pleads, and tries to cajole and bribe him, he will not change back. He pads along as a wolf, his head hanging low and his tail limp. They hide when they need to, and kill walkers when they have to. It storms one night and he shoves her toward the trunk of a car, waiting until she ties the hatch shut and slaughtering the small herd of walkers that has followed them, ripping the snarling corpses apart without a sound of his own until the street runs red with blood and water. When Beth crawls out in the morning, she finds him standing amidst the carnage, soaked and shivering and too numb to care. When she beckons for him to come, he follows behind her like a docile lamb until she finds them a little spot in the woods and gets a fire going to chase away the chill and dry his fur. He wants to tell her not to bother—he won’t get sick—but she’s determined and he’s apathetic, so he pads away to look for water for them.

He's so lost in the emptiness echoing in his mind that he doesn’t see the snake until it hisses. After that it’s just instinct that drives him to kill it, because food is food and Beth needs to eat.

“Please change back, Daryl,” the cub pleads again, her voice soft and trembling, when he drops the carcass in her lap. She strokes his furry cheek, just below the patch of darker color around his right eye. He blinks dully and goes to lay down, watching dispassionately as she struggles to skin and prepare the snake, and then to cook it. Not even the scent of cooking meat is enough to pull him away from the comforting numbness he’s drowning in. When Beth offers him half of the kill, he takes it and eats mechanically, tasting nothing.

“Y’know,” she says suddenly, looking up from her portion. She hasn’t eaten more than a few small pieces. “It makes sense, if you think about it. You not being human.” She’s trying to engage him in conversation, and looks crushed when he does nothing but stare through her. “You never really seemed human,” she continues. He rips another chunk of meat from the snake. “So you being this, you being a wolf, it makes sense. It fits. So, are you a werewolf?”

He gives her nothing, can’t even bear to touch her mind again. When she mentions a drink, realizing she’s not going to get a response to anything else, he kicks the bottle toward her with a hind paw and keeps eating.

“No,” she insists, tossing it back toward him. “I want a _real_ drink.”

Silently, he eats, not looking up from his paws again until she grows frustrated and storms away. A flutter of panic at the thought of her being out of his sight gets through to him enough to make him get up and follow, and he stops her in time before she catches the attention of the walkers she’s stumbled across. She’s already drawn her knife, but he grips her arm very, very gently with his mouth, only letting go when she follows him and lets him herd her back toward their camp. When she realizes where he’s brought her, though, she’s less than pleased. He growls in response to her raised voice, laying his ears back to show his displeasure. A part of him thinks painfully that he’s glad Hershel’s not around to see his youngest daughter flip Daryl off. Then again, if Hershel were here, he might be amused. He tries not to whine at that thought.

“You really want to spend the rest of your life like this?” she asks, angry and hurting and lashing out, trying to provoke a reaction she’ll never get. “Staring into a fire and eating mud snakes? Screw that! We might as well _do_ something!” She sets her jaw, determination filling her eyes as she stares him down. “I can take care of myself, and I’m gonna get a damn drink.” And then she’s leaving, spinning on her heel and walking away. Daryl watches her, unblinking, and then gives in and follows, kicking dirt over the fire to smother it so they don’t burn the forest down while they’re at it. He lets Beth lead them, lets her stumble her way through the woods with no idea where she’s going, because she doesn’t ask him to try and help her.

It’s sheer luck that they find the country club. Beth stumbles out onto the turf and looks around with surprise while Daryl slips out of the woods behind her and growls when he sees the walkers heading their way.

“That place looks like it would have a drink,” she decides, looking at him with growing excitement. She doesn’t seem to care anymore that he’s not going to reply, talking at him and taking whatever she will from the cues he gives her. When he huffs, she grins and heads toward the building quickly, keeping an eye on the approaching walkers while he pads along beside her.

The front door is locked, but they manage to get in through a side door. It was probably used by the staff members. Now it’s their way in, and he watches Beth secure it the best she can while he stares at the walkers swinging from the ceiling. They remind him of another walker from a long time ago, almost another lifetime, hanging from a tree in the middle of the woods, nothing but a poem nailed to a trunk left to show what kind of man he had been. Looking at all of the corpses around them, tucked away in their sleeping bags, dead and gone with nothing left but the smell of their rotting flesh, Daryl closes his eyes and shifts.

Beth looks surprised when she turns around, attention drawn by the sound of his body changing, and sees him standing in the middle of the room without a scrap of cloth to cover him. She squeaks, turning bright red, and spins back around again.

“Warn me next time! And put some pants on!”

Despite everything, he snorts out an amused puff of air and goes to find a pair that isn’t already moldering on a body, digging out some cargos that look like they’ll fit him. Underwear isn’t a necessity at the moment, so he pulls the pants on and accepts his vest when Beth hands it over. The worn, supple leather still holds onto the warmth of her skin, and so does the strap of his crossbow when he accepts that from the cub as well.

“What made you change back?” she asks, her eyes burning his skin as he looks around and starts grabbing everything he thinks might be useful, stuffing it into a leather satchel. “And why do you need that stuff?” She looks down at the money and the jewelry. He glances at her and doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even know why he’s grabbing the cold gold and silver, but the money will come in handy if there’s no kindling to start a fire. It’s not like it has any other purpose anymore.

While Beth hunts for the bar, Daryl raids for supplies. Finding a bottle of cinnamon sticks, he sniffs at one and whines when it reminds him of Rick’s relaxed-scent, sticking it into his mouth and sucking on it for the flavor and the memories. He hears the girl struggling against a walker that’s taken her by surprise, but she’s already killed it by the time he gets there.

“Thanks for your help,” she snaps. He curls his lip at her tone.

“Said you could take care of yourself,” he reminds her gruffly. “Ya did.”

“Oh, he speaks.” She’s still goading him on, trying to break through his apathy, but he refuses to let her. A part of her must realize that, because she huffs and turns away while he continues stuffing things into the satchel.

When they find the store, full of polo shirts and golf paraphernalia, he watches the cub as she looks for new clothes, something about the innocence that still shines through beneath the grime rousing him a little more from the fog he’s been living in. He pushes her ahead of him when the walkers appear, urging her on quickly and keeping an eye on them as they follow with a tenacity that is so frustrating that something in him finally gives, the Wild rising in him again and making him pause. Breathing out harshly, he turns around and doesn’t bother unslinging his bow. He grabs a golf club instead and starts swinging, his instincts burning the last wisps of apathy from his blood and leaving behind clarity. And fury. He beats the walkers to death, breaking the club at some point and not caring, not stopping. Every single one of them is the Governor to him, and he does to each of them what he wishes he could have done to that one man, killing them brutally the way he wishes he could have killed the psychopath who took everything from him and left him barely living even as he stubbornly continued to survive.

When he’s done, the final walker’s head is a caved-in mess and he’s gotten blood on Beth’s new clothes. She looks at him, understanding and upset on his behalf, and quietly takes off the sweater that had once been white, leaving just the yellow polo with walker blood decorating the front. They look at each other, and he finally reaches out to brush against her mind, whining softly.

“Come on,” she whispers, leading him with just those words. He follows because he cannot do anything else, refusing to let her out of his sight. They walk side-by-side again, seeing nothing around them, drawn forward only by the single-minded determination of the girl to complete this mission she’s decided on. “Back at the prison…” She trails off, and Daryl rumbles quietly to show he’s listening. “When I saw you the first time. I heard your voice in my head. Can you always do that?”

“If I try hard enough,” he mutters, his blue eyes roving over the walls but taking in none of the artwork. “Doesn’t always work. Too much static. Gotta have a good enough connection.”

“Have you done it to us before?”

He shrugs. “Not talkin’, no. Just quick brushes, to check.”

Beth nods. “Okay.”

They reach a set of wooden double doors, sharing a look before pushing them open to reveal the room beyond. It’s the bar, what Beth’s been looking for, and she smells like satisfaction, like black cherries and citrus. When she looks up at him, he tilts his head slightly. “You don’t have to come, if you don’t want. I have to do this, though. For me.” She smiles at him, then turns and walks up to the bar. He paces around the room, waiting for her to fulfil her unusual quest, and tries to occupy himself by throwing darts and the portraits of the people who must have run the country club, or been involved in the community, or _whatever_ it was they were a part of. It’s not until he smells salt and bitter saffron that he realizes the cub is crying, letting herself mourn in a way she hasn’t been able to since she and Daryl fled the prison.

She’s seventeen, but she seems so much younger, even younger than Carl. She deserves something, _anything_ , that will make her happy and make her forget, even if it’s only for a little while. So Daryl grabs the bottle of peach schnapps—fucking _peach schnapps_ —and throws it, relishing the sound of it smashing against the ground even if he doesn’t enjoy the scent of the alcohol itself. He looks at the shards, then at Beth, and snorts derisively.

“If you’re gonna have your first drink, it ain’t gonna be no damn peach schnapps. C’mon.” He shoves the door open, looking at her, and she grins as she hurries past him.

 

 

 

Standing in the middle of the shack in the woods, Daryl feels like he’s spent years running from his past, just to end up right back in the place he was running from. It’s almost creepy, just how much like his Daddy’s house this place is, right down to the bloodstains he can see sunken into the arms of the chair and the moonshine he pours for Beth, clear and strong enough to make his temples throb just by unscrewing the cap. He’s impressed by how quickly she knocks it back, drinking it like it’s nothing but water and holding out her glass for more.

“You have some, too,” she insists.

“Nah, I’m good.” The last thing he needs is to drink this back-woods, homemade swill. It’ll bring back too many memories he’d rather not dredge up. Beth is like a dog with a bone, though, determined and refusing to be denied, so he takes a jar and sits heavily in the armchair, his back stiff and his stomach queasy as he looks around.

“Home sweet home,” he mutters bitterly, drinking down half the jar before stopping to breathe and not at all relishing the way it burns down his throat and settles heavily in his empty stomach.

“Let’s play a drinking game.” Beth looks excited by the prospect of a little fun to go with the alcohol, but Daryl isn’t so sure. He’s not the best guy to get drunk with. Once again, though, the cub will not take no for an answer, so he pushes himself out of the chair and wanders over to the overturned crate she’s decided to use as a table, listening to her explaining the rules of the game eagerly. They play a few rounds, drinking when they have to, and he’s beginning to feel a little less out of his element.

And then it goes to shit.

“I’ve never been in jail.” The cub is staring at him expectantly, and he bites too hard on his cuticle, narrowing his eyes slightly and feeling his anger and hurt mingle into one nasty combination as he growls softly.

“’S that what you think of me?”

She backtracks, stuttering over her words as she tries to explain herself, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He gets up and stalks away, not caring how much noise he makes even when she hisses at him to be more quiet. This isn’t a situation that calls for his Wild blood to burn, but it’s burning anyway, because if that’s really what she thinks he is, some no-good ex-con just like Merle, just like his _Daddy_ , then he’s done a shitty fucking job at proving to everyone that he’s nothing like them. In the end, he’s just another no-good Dixon. Just another failure.

When the walker shows up, he lashes out at Beth, hauling her outside despite her pleas for him to stop.

“C’mon, Greene, you wanted to learn. C’mere, let me teach you how to shoot!” he sneers, pinning the walker to a post with a bolt through its shoulder and letting her go long enough to reload. “C’mon, this is fun!” He shoots it again, and then again, and is moving forward to yank a few of the bolts free when Beth drives her knife into its skull and he scoffs, baring his teeth. He holds onto the anger, because she’s finally cracked through the wall he’s sequestered himself behind, and she did it without even trying. All it took was one little question said during a _game_ and he’s shaking, fracturing into pieces and unsure if he can glue them back together this time. They’re screaming at each other, not caring about being quiet, and when Beth brings up Sophia he shatters the rest of the way.

“Everyone we know is _dead_!”

“You don’t know that!” she yells back, her voice breaking.

He gets up in her face, his eyes flashing gold. “They might as well be, ‘cause you ain’t never gonna see ‘em again!” Backing off, he looks away, reaching out with his mind and whining. “ _Rick_ ,” he whimpers, crying out desperately but getting nothing in response. “You ain’t ever gonna see Maggie again!”

“Daryl, just stop-” She tries to reach for him, and he rips himself away violently.

“No!” Refusing to look at her, he paces and lets it all come out, just like she wanted him to, raging against the fates that have befallen all of them, and all because of a man who deemed himself important enough to be called Governor. He shakes, his throat closing, his voice cracking, and suddenly Beth is clinging to him, hugging him as tightly as she can, and Daryl howls his misery with no one but a cub who’s turning out to be stronger than he ever gave her credit for clinging to him, holding him up as his legs give out and he curls forward into himself, his bangs hiding his face but unable to stop the hot tears from dripping to the ground. Beth is crying too, the two of them sobbing together as they mourn the family they’ve lost, the lives they can never reclaim, two omegas lost and alone in a world that shows no kindness toward those who deserve nothing but the best.

It's dark by the time they’re calm enough, Beth sipping from a glass of moonshine while Daryl slumps back against a support beam and admits what he’d never been able to tell Zach—that he’d been a worthless, no-good asshole before the world decided to end, contributing nothing and caring for no one the way Merle had taught him, closer to feral than he’d ever even realized until he’d been given a purpose.

“So you’re, what, a werewolf?” she asks curiously. He snorts.

“Nah, nothin’ like that. It ain’t bound by the cycle of the moon, and I ain’t gonna turn no one if I bite ‘em. ‘M just… a man who can become a wolf. Been one with the Wild in me ever since I was born. Learned to run as a wolf ‘fore I took my first step as a human. Used to go for weeks as a wolf, runnin’ through the woods and feeling like I belonged there more’n I ever belonged around people.”

“Is that what you call it? The Wild?”

“Yeah.” Tilting his head back, he looks up at the moon and admires the stars. “Dunno what else to call it. It’s part of me, and part of nature. It’s… it’s the Wild.” He struggles to try and put it into words that describe it better, but Beth chuckles before he can and he looks at her again.

“This makes so much sense,” she admits. “It explains a lot about you, and some of the things you do. If you’re a wolf, though, why not try to find others like you? Why follow Rick?”

“Ain’t many out there with the Wild in their blood, and even fewer I’d be able to get along with. ‘M not an alpha, never was. Got bad experiences with ‘em. I follow Rick because he’s the strongest human I’ve ever met. Ain’t ever run into a human alpha before, but he proved his worth the day I met him. Can’t imagine following anyone else.” And it hurts, because he can’t reach Rick, so the man must be dead.

“You were made for how the world is now,” Beth decides quietly, sounding awed as she looks at him. He can’t meet her gaze. “You’re gonna be the last man standing.”

Snorting, he nudges her glass with the toe of his boot. “Better lay off the moonshine. You’re talkin’ nonsense.”

They settle into silence, and then suddenly Beth announces that they should burn the house down. Daryl stares at her, blinking, and then he smiles slightly, because that’s the best idea he’s ever heard. So they empty the rest of the moonshine all over the inside of the shack, saturating every inch of it, drowning every memory the place holds. He makes a trail with the last of the booze, and lights it up. It goes up in a blaze of glory, the fire roaring to life in a way that feels cathartic rather than ruinous. He watches the smoke rise and imagines it’s every aspect of his childhood, every beating and scar and night spent curled up out in the woods, trembling and praying his Daddy didn’t find him. Beth raises her middle finger, and he follows her lead, saying goodbye to everything that made him who he was before he turns into the darkness and starts walking on the path to who he wants to be.

 

 

 

Someone took Beth. Someone took her, and Daryl was so panicked, chasing the car down and screaming for the cub, that he didn’t even give himself time to stop and shift. It he had, maybe he could have saved her. Maybe she’d be with him right now, the two of them trying to make their own way in the world until they figured out what they were going to do. But he’d fucked up, he’d _failed_ , and now she’s gone and he can’t even follow her scent trail, because she’s inside of a car and by the time he reaches the fork in the road, the wind has destroyed the trail. He looks down one fork, and then the other, and then he drops his crossbow and crumples to his knees, curling over and waiting for the first walker that finds him.

He’s failed Rick. He failed Hershel. He’s failed Beth. It’s pretty fucking clear that he ruins everything he touches, and brings death to anyone he cares about. So Daryl decides that he’s had enough, because he’s lost his entire pack. He’s got no reason to continue on.

He’s ready to die.

And then he’s surrounded by men who smell like death and shadows, men who smell Wild without being able to claim the birthright. When the leader reaches for his crossbow, he knocks him back on his ass, surging to his feet and snarling as he aims at the bleeding man and lays his finger on the trigger. Multiple weapons raise, all of them trained on him, and he can’t find it in himself to care.

“Hey there,” the man chuckles. “You can shoot me if you want, and my boys will kill you several times over before you take your finger off the trigger. Or you can lower your bow, and we can have a nice chat.”

“Ain’t got shit to say to you,” Daryl growls, refusing to lower his weapon so much as half an inch, hearing the men around him lay claim to his things before he’s even properly dead.

“Oh, I disagree, pup,” the older man says as he stands. Daryl startles, raising his head slightly and flaring his nostrils as he scents them. Not a one of them is a wolf, but there’s a hint of Other in some of them. It’s strongest in their leader.

“Not a fuckin’ pup,” he growls, eyeing the man warily. “The hell you want with me?”

“I appreciate a man with a bow. You see a man with a gun, and he could have been anything. Doctor, lawyer—hell, he could have been a priest or an accountant. But a bowman, well, he’s never been anything but a bowman, through and through.” The man comes closer and holds out his hand. “Name’s Joe, friend. You look like you’re in need of a friend or two. Maybe a pack.”

“Don’t need no fuckin’ pack,” he spits. He’ll never let himself have a pack again, and he’d never even consider men like this as being worthy of the title.

“If you say so. Maybe you just need people, though. It’s dangerous for anyone trying to go it alone.”

“What makes you think I’d be safer with you than I could do on my own?”

Joe chuckles. “Besides the fact that we found you sitting at a crossroads waiting to die?” The man grins and runs a hand through his gunmetal-gray hair; rubs at his beard and appraises him. “You don’t strike me as a lone wolf, friend. You look like the kind of guy who pretends he doesn’t need anyone, when it couldn’t be further from the truth. So come with us. Give us a chance. If you decide you don’t wanna run with us, you can leave, no hard feelings. What say you?”

“What the fuck are you?” This is a bad idea. He shouldn’t even be considering this. “You smell human, but not. What are you?”

“Just a good ol’ southern boy trying to make it to tomorrow. I’d be mighty grateful if you helped me with that.”

Tense, still ready to shift if he needs to, he lowers his bow and nods tightly. “Yeah, okay. For a little while.”

Joe grins wide, clapping his hands together. “Perfect. You got a name, pup?”

“Daryl.”

“Welcome aboard, Daryl.”

 

 

 

The Claimers are a group that operates very loosely like a wolf pack. Joe is the clear leader, but there’s no pecking order. The only rules they have involve claiming what you like before someone else does, and don’t ever lie if you don’t want to face the consequences. It’s nothing at all like Daryl is used to.

He hates them.

It’s clear that he shouldn’t be with them, doesn’t belong. Whatever Len sees in him that makes the archer decide he hates Daryl, the feeling is mutual. The other man is dirty, and he smells like danger and deception. The others aren’t much better, but they don’t make alarms blare quite in the same way as Len. It quickly becomes apparent after their fight over the rabbit that something, somewhere, is going to give. As it so happens, it’s Len that makes the first move, and it costs him his life. Watching the Claimers beat him, Joe calling for them to teach the archer a lesson, he feels sick. This isn’t how things should be done. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be following Joe and his men. He should be alone, because that’s what he deserves. He’ll take being a lone wolf over being part of this.

Finding Len the next morning, one of his own arrows protruding from his eye socket, Daryl knows he can’t keep going like this. He’s getting more and more unhinged again, sinking back into the apathy he’d wrapped himself in before Beth had broken through. He doesn’t want to be this way, doesn’t want to live like this, but he knows Joe won’t just let him leave, no matter what he said before. So he does what he has to, becoming indifferent and following the Claimers as they hunt a man they’re determined to find, waiting for the right moment to slip away.

Night falls, and the Claimers close in on their target. Daryl hangs back, watching them circle closer to the fire and wanting no part of the bloodbath he knows is soon to commence. Something’s keeping him from just leaving while they’re distracted, a faint scent tickling his nose that keeps him where he is, trying to draw in enough of it to make a positive identification. He takes a few steps closer, frowning heavily and ignoring Joe’s gloating.

“You leave him be!”

The world grinds to a halt. Daryl’s knees buckle as his mind opens up and _power_ , wild and untamed, pours into him, a presence he never thought he’d feel again settling over him like it had never been missing to begin with. Rick’s thoughts are dark with fury, rippling and lashing out in vicious tendrils that never come close to harming Daryl. His alpha is _alive_ , alive and furious, and Daryl surges forward.

“Wait!”

The Claimers fall silent, all of them looking at him as he steps out of the shadows and meets Rick’s eyes. His alpha stills, looking at him, and then he’s overwhelmed by so many emotions he can’t untangle them enough to tell what any of them are, never looking away from Rick’s rage-black eyes as he comes closer.

“Hold up,” he breathes, ignoring Joe’s annoyance at being stopped. In front of all of them, in front of Michonne and Carl, he tilts his head back and bares his throat to his alpha, shivering at the possessive, satisfied rumble that vibrates across the space and brushes over his skin like a physical caress. His nerves sing, his mind crooning.

_Alpha. My alpha._

Rick’s eyes glitter. _Always._

“This man,” the archer says, stepping closer because he couldn’t stay away even if he tried. “You’re gonna let him go. You’re gonna let these people go.”

“And why would I want to do that, pup?” Joe asks condescendingly. The wolf grits his teeth, the Wild rising in him, sliding into his blood with the welcoming feeling of coming home. He wants to rip these men apart, but he holds himself rigidly still, because Joe has a gun to his alpha’s head, and he won’t risk doing something that will make the man pull the trigger.

“He’s a good man. They’re good people.”

“Ah. Well, see, Lou would disagree with that,” the leader of the Claimers chuckles, and there’s nothing amused about the sound. He gestures at himself with his gun. “Of course, I’ll have to speak on his behalf, seeing as your friend here, well, he strangled him to death in a bathroom.”

“You want blood,” Daryl says, setting his crossbow down slowly. “I get that.” He spreads his arms, ignoring Rick’s warning growl. “Take it from me, man. Just let them go.”

The Claimers fall on him with ferocity when Joe gives the order, and Daryl yelps in pain, whines in agony, as the blows come from all sides. He tries to protect his belly and his neck, which leaves his spine open to the boot that slams into the center of his back repeatedly. Carl is crying out, reeking of fear-scent, and Rick is shouting. His words are getting less and less coherent, the darkness surging like a tidal wave against Daryl’s mind.

A gun goes off, and the beating stops as the Claimers look over. Daryl does the same, raising his head weakly and looking over at where Rick and Joe are fighting. He whines as he watches his alpha fall again and again, his wolf howling, the Wild raging in him. His clothes feel constrictive, the shirt he’d claimed from a corpse strangling him, his pants too tight. He feels fur rippling down his spine, his eyes snapping between blue and gold and some mixture of the two, and without knowing what else to do, he _shoves_ himself into the darkness surrounding Rick’s mind and opens himself up to his alpha, feeding the Wild into the man’s blood in a way he didn’t even know was possible and watching, mesmerized, as his alpha’s eyes glow bright, violent blue and he rips Joe’s throat out with his teeth.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack is reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING. AHEAD THAR BE PORN.
> 
> Just a little bit. Just for now.
> 
> MIND THE TAGS.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rick is a vision covered in Joe’s blood, his mouth and the lower half of his face and even his throat painted in the tacky, drying liquid. Daryl is a little disturbed by how badly he wants to lick his alpha clean; to scoot closer and curl up against the man, bathing him with his tongue— _grooming_ him—until there’s nothing but clean skin left behind, slightly damp from his saliva. The thought makes him shudder, a little too desperate, so he wets his rag with some water instead and hands it to the man.

“You can’t see yourself,” he says evasively, when Rick tries to insist he’s fine. “He can.”

His alpha’s scent spikes at the mention of his cub, sage and soothing lavender swirling in a way that makes the wolf whine softly as he finally sits beside the man, trying to give him space even if it’s the last thing he himself wants. He thought Rick was _dead_ , and here he is. He’s taking what happened surprisingly well, the scent of cinnamon tickling Daryl’s nose as the human rests back against the truck and looks at him with stormy blue eyes that have taken on a new edge. There’s a bit of Wild there, a bit of feral fever left from Daryl that is hinted at in his scent. The memory of Rick’s eyes, blue and glowing as he ripped out Joe’s throat, makes the wolf want to squirm. He wonders how long it will take for what he gave Rick, that piece of himself, to fade, and a little selfishly hopes that it won’t. This new change, it works for his alpha. It fits him. It’s not the dictator that rose in the wake of Shane’s betrayal, or the man that emerged from the tombs after coming to terms with Lori’s death. This man has some of the Wild in him, a bit of wolf in his eyes even if there’s none in his blood. He’s never seen a more perfect sight.

“You didn’t answer me, Daryl,” Rick rumbles as he wipes a little at his face, failing to clean anything at all and not seeming to care in the least. The wolf bites his lip and tilts his head back for his alpha, shuddering when the familiar thumb presses into his pulse and rubs soothing circles against his skin. He whines louder, trembles harder, and the rumble turns soothing. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“I didn’t know,” he whispers. “I didn’t know it was you they were lookin’ for. I knew what they were capable of, knew they were bad, but I didn’t know… They said they was lookin’ for some guy. Last night, they said they spotted him. I didn’t know it was you. Couldn’t feel you at all, ‘til just before…”

“How’d you wind up with them?” Rick asks, and he doesn’t sound accusing. Just curious.

Daryl swallows heavily. “Beth and I got away, after the prison. It was just us, out there. We were out there for a while, survivin’, and then I lost her. Was sittin’ in the middle of the road, waitin’ to die, when they found me.”

“She dead?” Rick is looking at him, still rubbing at his throat, although his thumb has started to stroke up and down the line of his jugular now. He smells like soothing lavender and nothing like fury, and Daryl glances over through his lashes but can’t quite bring himself to meet his alpha’s eyes.

“She’s just gone,” he mumbles, and watches as the man nods slightly, accepting that for what it is. “They found me, and I didn’t know what else to do. Had nowhere to go. Figured I could run with them for a little while, but I wasn’t plannin’ on stayin’. They weren’t good people, an’ I knew that. Was fixin’ to slip away last night, and then I heard you.” _I heard you and my world fell into place again, and I couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t lose you again, not after just finding out you weren’t gone._

“So why didn’t you tell me? All that time, Daryl, and you never once…”

“Ain’t exactly somethin’ you just tell people, y’know? Seen plenty of folks struggle just to accept the fact that the dead’re walking around, and that they ain’t people anymore. How the hell do you tell someone that you can turn into a giant fucking wolf?” He presses into the contact a little harder, desperate to make Rick understand, for his alpha to forgive this betrayal. “Plenty of times that I wanted to tell you,” he admits in a whisper. “There were a lot of times I almost said it, but I could never get it out. Was always afraid of how you’d look at me, if you knew…”

“Did anyone know?” Rick’s thumb leaves, the loss making Daryl keen, but then his alpha is pulling him forward and letting him lean into him, taking his weight easily and running a hand through the archer’s hair as he whines and tucks his nose under the man’s jaw, not even caring about the blood as he nuzzles his thick, scratchy beard and just breathes.

“Bob knew. Found me in th’ woods eatin’ a deer one day. He was the only one, ‘til the prison fell. I think everyone knows, now. Think I scared th’ hell outta Carl, when I shifted right next to him. Couldn’t hold it back, after…” _After the Governor killed Hershel in front of us._ He doesn’t mention that Bob is a wolf as well. If the man wants to tell them, he’ll let him do it himself. “God, Rick, I thought you were dead. Spent so long bein’ able to reach out an’ feel you, and afterwards… There was nothin’. It was just me again. Felt like I’d had a piece’a me cut out.”

“Is that what that was?” Rick’s voice is low, curious, and Daryl gives in just a little bit, licking some of the blood from his alpha’s throat and ignoring the taste of it, needing the closeness too much. He’s not made to stop, not reprimanded or shoved away, and it makes him a little bolder, makes him bathe his alpha’s throat with broad swipes of his tongue, removing any trace of Joe and the Claimers. “How long have we been communicating that way without me knowing it wasn’t just a figment of my psychosis?”

“Pretty much since th’ quarry,” Daryl admits, pulling back slightly and glancing up at Rick, feeling suddenly shy and nervous. “’S been there since th’ beginning, an’ it got stronger as time passed. Never felt wrong, an’ you never tried t’ pull away. At Hershel’s farm, after Dale… that was th’ first time you reached out t’ me on yer own. Was curled up on the ground outside yer tent, just needin’ _somethin’_ , an’ you reached out in your sleep t’ comfort me.”

Rick is looking at him, a little Wild and a lot fond, his eyes liquid and his smile tender. Embarrassed, the wolf looks away, his shoulders hunching, because he’s still not good at dealing with his own emotions, and that’s probably the most he’s ever said on the matter. It makes him twitchy, makes him want to shift and run, but he’s not sure if he should. Cautious, expecting to be rebuked, he curls against his alpha’s mind and nearly sighs in relief when he’s welcomed without hesitation, curling up against the human’s thoughts and letting the steady flow of care and support soothe him better than any words ever could.

“It makes a lot of sense, now that I think about it.” Rick starts running his fingers through Daryl’s hair again, and the archer rumbles in contentment as he nuzzles closer again. “You always were more like a wolf than a person. Always had that edge of wildness to you, that pack mentality. Never saw anyone fight as hard for people he barely even knew, but you’ve done it since day one, haven’t you.”

Daryl doesn’t know what to say to that, so he pulls away and puts a little space between them again, comforted by his alpha’s acceptance but knowing they have other things they need to talk about.

“What that man did…” He can’t say it, can’t even say the fucker’s name. It fills him with too much guilt, and he grits his teeth to fight the whine he can feel trying to slip free.

“It’s not on you, Daryl,” Rick cuts in, tilting his head slightly until the wolf meets his gaze, storm-colored eyes so gentle that he can’t bear to look for too long, because as much as he craves Rick’s acceptance, he doesn’t feel like he deserves it for all the ways he’s failed the man. “Hey,” his alpha rumbles, coaxing him to turn his head, to _hear_ him. “It’s not on you. What you did, you bein’ back with us here, now; that’s everything.”

Their minds brush, melding together with the same ease they always have. Daryl’s eyes flutter shut, reveling in the contact after not having it for so long. He hears Rick shift, feels as he comes closer until his warm, copper-scented breath brushes against the wolf’s cheeks and mouth. He feels his own breath hitch in response, feels his mouth drop open slightly, his blood warming his cheeks, and then Rick is there, his alpha’s beard scraping against his face, their jaws running against each other like they’re both wolves, both seeking comfort.

“You’re my brother,” his alpha rumbles, turning and breathing the claim against Daryl’s mouth, their lips just barely touching, and he can’t stop his whimper, because Rick’s thoughts aren’t matching up with his words. They’re possessive, laying over him heavily, thoughts like _pack_ and _mine_ making him shiver and crack open his eyes just slightly. He’s immediately ensnared by the human’s eyes, dark and blue and still tinged with the Wild, fixed unerringly on him, and he finally understands.

“ _Yours_ ,” he breathes, shivering at the possessive rumble that comes from deep in Rick’s chest. “Always,” he promises, turning to rub his face against Rick’s jaw again, whining softly as he ducks to press under his alpha’s jaw, licking and whining and pressing as close as he can get. “Always, alpha. Always yours.”

When Rick pulls back, he tries to follow. His alpha catches him, though, fingers firm but not painful where they press into his jaw, the man’s thumb rubbing against his lower lip. He guides Daryl to him—which is unnecessary, because the wolf never had any intention of trying to get away—and angles his head to where he wants it.

And then they’re kissing. Daryl surges forward, desperate, and Rick holds him steady, reminds him of his place with a growl and a nip at his lips that makes him keen. He waits, though, feeling like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin as the Wild howls through him. When his alpha’s tongue curls across the seam of his mouth, he opens for him and tumbles into Rick’s mind; submitting and melting against the strong body that braces to take his weight, just like it always has, while Rick lays claim to his mouth with a determination that borders on reverence. He's an unstoppable force, hot and possessive but not forceful. He doesn’t plunder, he doesn’t just take what he wants with no consideration.

Rick maps every inch of the archer’s mouth, tonguing over every tooth and curling the tip against his upper palate before stroking against Daryl’s tongue, enticing him, finally letting him reciprocate. It’s wet and it’s messy, saliva leaking down his chin, and it’s the best first kiss Daryl’s ever had, the _only_ first kiss; everything clicking into place the way it should as he submits to Rick, pledges everything to him, and his alpha promises with no words needing to be verbalized to never betray the gift he’s been given. His free hand cups the back of Daryl’s head, pulling him closer, and it doesn’t matter that they’re sharing the taste of blood between them—that Rick’s still covered in it, and Daryl’s mouth is sore, his various hurts still very much prevalent after the beating from the Claimers. None of it matters.

Rick is his alpha, and he is finally where he belongs.

 

 

 

Daryl isn’t expecting the first thing Carl does when the teenager climbs out of the truck, which is to throw his arms around the archer and cling to him like a stubborn barnacle, burying his face into his shirt and refusing to let go. The wolf whines and curls around him, breathing in the boy’s scent and hugging him back, unable to do anything else. “Good to see you, too, pup,” he whispers roughly. “Sorry it took so long.”

“It’s okay,” Carl replies softly, his voice a little uneven. The wolf can see it when he looks in his eyes, can see that his alpha’s son is trying so hard to be brave, and strong, even though a horrible thing was very nearly done to him. It wouldn’t have gotten that far, shouldn’t have been allowed to get as far as it had, but Rick took care of the man, eviscerated him without mercy and watched the life bleed from him while they all watched on, not a single hint of disgust over what their alpha had done tainting the air.

“Nah, it ain’t.” Daryl presses his cheek against the boy’s hair, nuzzling him gently before he pulls away. “It will be, though.”

“So, you’re a werewolf, huh?”

He rolls his eyes, and Carl grins. “Ain’t no fuckin’ werewolf,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat in his words. The teenager laughs, and he huffs at him. “I _ain’t_.”

“You turn into a giant wolf. How are you _not_ a werewolf?”

“Just ain’t. Don’t work like that.” He glances at Michonne, judging her reaction, and finds the woman smiling at him, her dark eyes gentle and accepting. The last of his apprehension fades, and he offers her a tiny smile in return.

“Will you show me?” the teenager asks, and Daryl blinks. “Can you shift now? I want to see. I’d like to, that is, if you’re okay with it.”

“Didn’t go so well last time,” he reminds the kid, glancing at Rick and curling shyly against his alpha’s mind, seeking permission and getting back affection and a firm nudge; he is never to ask for the right to be who he is. The possessiveness he feels, the casual dominance Rick exudes as easily as someone else breathes air, makes him shiver and ache from something that isn’t bruises.

“Wasn’t expecting it last time,” Carl counters, still grinning and smelling like cedar wood, childish and eager. “I am now.”

“Pushy,” the archer sighs, but he’s too eager to show his packmates who he really is without the fear of judgement holding him back anymore. “Give me a second. Gotta get undressed, or I’ll ruin these.” He tugs at his shirt for emphasis, and only moves away when they all nod, heading around to the other side of the truck. They may be ready to see his wolf, and he is more than ready to show his other self to them, but that doesn’t mean he’s just going to strip naked right in front of Carl. He’s not comfortable with that.

Rick follows him, watching with heat darkening his eyes as Daryl takes off his vest and hangs it on the side mirror, hesitating for a moment before a slight nod from his alpha prompts him to strip his shirt off as well. He lets it drop, not caring where it lands, and starts working his pants off. He never got the chance to find boxers, his cheeks flushing when the cargos slide down to reveal everything to his alpha’s hungry gaze. His cock twitches, and Rick licks his lips.

“Stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that,” he rasps, trying not to squirm as he kicks off his boots and lets his pants pool around his ankles before working them off, too.

“Like what?” Rick murmurs, eyeing him from top to bottom.

“Like you’re gonna _eat_ me.”

“Just might,” his alpha admits, voice dark and seductive as he steps forward. Daryl steps back, looking to the side but still offering his throat. “Bet you’ll taste better than anything else I’ve eaten.”

“Jesus _fuck_.” He’s already panting, which makes it hard to glare when all he wants to do is drop to his knees. “Go the fuck away if yer gonna be like that, you’re wrecking my focus.”

Rick snorts, amused, but backs off and turns away so that the archer can compose himself. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and then he smiles and sinks into his Wild soul, and he shifts. It feels like coming home, like being complete, and he yawns widely before he stretches, bowing low and keeping his hindquarters raised, his tail already wagging. His spine adjusts, the various hurts from the beating fading into the background, and Rick finally turns around when he noses at his alpha’s back. He squirms underneath the assessing gaze being leveled at him, trying not to dance in place nervously, and whines softly when his alpha continues to stare without saying anything.

“Beautiful,” the man finally breathes, reaching out to bury his fingers into the wolf’s fur. He smooths his hands down either side of Daryl’s strong neck, petting through the thicker ruff that protects his jugular, and then back over his broad, powerful shoulders, stepping closer to reach everything and putting them in a position where it looks like Rick’s embracing him. “Just like the other you,” he rumbles, playing with his ears until he whines and nuzzles his alpha’s chest, tucking his dark, wet nose into the front of his jacket. “Wide shoulders, narrow hips. You got any idea what you do to me?”

 _No_ , he admits, licking across the front of the man’s throat and taking away more of the blood he still hasn’t washed off.

“Do you have any idea what I want to do to _you_?”

Daryl whines, showing Rick his throat and closing his eyes; sighing in pleasure when those clever, knowing fingers knead against his furry chest and cup the hinges of his jaw before sweeping down his slender muzzle. He licks his alpha’s fingers, curling his wide, flat tongue around them and trembling at the fire that ignites those stormy eyes from the innocent action.

If they keep at this, Carl’s not going to get to see his wolf for a while, so Daryl finally backs away after one last nuzzle and lick, wagging his tail even harder as he looks up at Rick. His alpha smiles and rubs between his ears, and then turns and leads the way back to their eager, anxious packmates.

“This is so cool!” Carl crows, reaching out before he’s even in range and burying his fingers into the wolf’s fur as soon as he’s close enough, making Daryl rumble happily. It feels good, feels like comfort and pack, but it lacks the edge that Rick touching him has, which is just fine with him. When his alpha’s son pets his ears, watching the way they twitch and flick, he’s just being a cub, assuaging his burning curiosity over something he’s never seen before. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us about this before, Daryl?”

 _You watch yer language, pup_ , he scolds, and he feels his mouth open in a grin, tongue lolling out, as the boy’s eyes get as wide as saucers. Their connection isn’t perfect, a little bit of static buzzing in the background, but it’s clear enough for him to be heard and understood.

“Holy shit!”

_What did I just say?_

“Sorry, sorry. I just, you spoke! Inside my head!”

“You’re makin’ me feel left out, Daryl,” Michonne teases. She presses against his side and drapes her arm across his shoulders, stroking his fur and smelling like sweet grass and crisp mountain streams. “Glad you finally told us,” she adds in a softer voice. “You shouldn’t have to hide who you are. We’re your pack; have been for a while. We won’t abandon you.”

 _Glad to know that. Won’t abandon you either._ His mind-voice makes her smile even wider, something soft in her eyes.

Looking at Rick, seeing and smelling his alpha’s fondness, Daryl feels more settled than he has in far too long. This is his pack. They love him, and he loves them, loves _Rick_ ; they won’t cast him out for being who he is, for being Wild and wolf.

 _Saw a map to a place on the tracks,_ he comments, and Rick tilts his head slightly. _Called Terminus._

“We saw it too,” Carl says. His father nods.

“If anyone else made it out, it’s a safe bet that they’re headed that way.”

 _Yeah_ , Daryl agrees. _We should check it out and see._

“Yeah,” Rick murmurs, looking him up and down slowly, his gaze making the wolf’s fur prickle and his blood heat. He’s not used to being looked at like that, not used to the idea that Rick actually wants to look at him like that. He feels like he’s in heat again, burning and desperate and achingly empty, _needing_ Rick to fill him. Some of that must bleed through their connection, because Rick’s pupils dilate and his scent deepens to something Daryl can only describe as the deep woods; musk and forest and rut-scent that makes him pant a little harder.

“Guess we know where we’re goin’, then.” Michonne’s voice brings him back to himself enough to look away from his alpha’s hunger. She’s looking at Rick, deferring to him even though she’s just as much of a leader, and always has been. She chooses to follow Rick, knowing he’ll never lead them astray, and Daryl thinks that points more towards the man’s character than anything else, that even other alphas will fall in behind him.

“Yeah,” his alpha says again, determination settling into place. “Looks like we’re going to Terminus.”

 

 

 

Daryl bites into the shirt he’s balled up and shoved into his mouth to use as a makeshift gag, the fabric doing well enough in muffling his needy cries. He’s clawing at the ground weakly, feeling the gritty dirt that’s already caught beneath his nails; the scrape of the grass and leaves against his sensitive nipples making him writhe and arch up into the hot body pressed against his back.

“Look at you,” Rick whispers, his breath too hot against the archer’s sweaty skin. His alpha mouths at the nape of his neck, nosing his long, dark strands of hair out of the way to get to the burning skin beneath. “Look at you, Daryl. So desperate, so needy. Haven’t even properly touched you yet, darlin’. Want me to?”

He nods frantically, spreading his legs wider and grinding his knees farther into the dirt, feeling filthy and loving it, loving what Rick can do with just a look. It’s the middle of the night, Carl and Michonne sleeping safely back at the camp they’d set up, and the Georgia air feels cool against his feverish skin. He tilts his hips, rubbing his ass back against his alpha’s groin and sobbing at the scrape of denim. Rick’s still got his pants on, _why does he still have his pants on_? He should be naked, just like Daryl, should be _in him_ right now. He tries to look back at the man, tries to beg with his eyes and his body since he can’t beg with his mouth, his alpha’s scent filling his nose and driving him out of his mind.

 _Please, alpha_ , he whimpers, rubbing his mind against Rick’s in a mirror of the way their bodies are moving together, slick with sweat and burning, and the human rumbles as he bucks forward, grinding the hot line of his trapped cock into Daryl’s ass, pressing between his cheeks and making his hole twitch hungrily. _Please, need you in me. Been needing you for so long. I can’t, you gotta, you have to, alpha,_ please.

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ filthy, Daryl,” Rick growls against the top of his spine. He pulls back, pulls _away_ , and soothes the archer’s flare of distress by petting a hand over his stomach, sliding lower in torturous circles until he’s curling his fingers around Daryl’s leaking cock. His cry is muffled by the shirt, and he bites into it until his jaw aches, fucking into the loose tunnel of his alpha’s fist and coming too fast, too soon, his vision going white and his dick jerking as he paints the ground beneath him. “There it is,” the man snarls, stroking him through it without stopping, merciless until it’s edging too much into pain for Daryl, too sensitive from the aftershocks shivering across his bare skin.

 _Alpha_ , he keens, pressing his forehead into the dirt and tilting his hips as much as he can, offering himself. Rick swears, fumbling to get his pants out of the way enough. “Love it when you call me that, darlin’,” he groans. His mind covers Daryl’s, curling over him the way his body is curled over the archer’s, sliding together and sharing everything the way they have been for so long. It feels different now though, feels like _more_ , and he shoves back as Rick bucks forward, the head of his cock catching against the archer’s hole and smearing pre-cum over it. Fucking _shit_ , why the hell isn’t his alpha pushing inside? He tries to do it for him, almost gagging on a part of the shirt he’s started suckling on, spit leaking from the corners of his mouth and mixing with the dirt already there. _In_ , he demands, frantic and digging his claws into the soil as fur ripples down his spine and he feels his canines getting thicker. He knows his eyes are gold, his hold slipping a little, but it just seems to wind Rick up even more.

“Can’t help yourself, can you?” his alpha croons, rubbing his cock between Daryl’s cheeks and fucking against him using his own wetness to ease the way. “You’d let me just shove into you right now, no prep, and you’d fuckin’ love it. So fuckin’ filthy, darlin’. I’m not gonna do that, though.” When Daryl sobs and pounds a fist against the ground, Rick soothes him. “I want you stretched and wet, Daryl, want you falling to pieces even more than you already are. Wanna slide right in without having to worry about hurting you, ‘cause that’s the last thing I want to do. So you’re gonna have to be patient, darlin’. Can you do that for me?”

 ** _No_** _,_ Daryl whines, still rocking back into every roll forward of his alpha’s hips. _No, please, I don’t want to wait-_

“You have to, Daryl. Just a little longer. Just wait a little longer, and then I promise I’ll take you right, make you _mine_. You want that, right? Wanna be mine?”

_Yes, yes, please, alpha, I wanna be yours. Am yours._

“That’s right. So I need you to be patient, okay?” Rick’s grunting now, his words disjointed as he nears his climax. Daryl melts against the ground, lets his alpha rut and thrust until he seizes up and comes, warmth splattering against the archer’s skin and making him sigh in bliss. He reaches back when his alpha pulls away, unable to help himself, and runs his fingers through the mess; dips them between his cheeks to push some of it inside of himself, partly because he needs _something_ and partly to tease. It works, because Rick rips the shirt of out his mouth and rolls him over, settling between Daryl’s thighs when he opens them to accept his alpha and slamming their mouths together. He sucks on the man’s tongue like he’d sucked on the shirt, rolling his hips and wrapping his legs around the backs of the jean-clad thighs, relishing the scrape and burn of the denim now and wrapping his arms around Rick’s neck to keep him from pulling away.

Slowly, their franticness eases, their passion settling but not dying away as deep, rough kisses gentle into slides of lips and tongue, their bodies cooling in the night air until Daryl is shivering slightly. With one last kiss, Rick sits back, looking down at him with black eyes that glitter in the darkness.

“You’ve got a filthy mouth on you, darlin’,” he rumbles; rubs his thumb against the archer’s swollen, tender lips. “Can’t wait until I don’t have to gag you. Wanna hear you actually sayin’ all of that to me.”

“You’re just as bad,” Daryl huffs, but there’s no venom in his tone. He relaxes against the ground, looking up at his alpha through heavy-lidded eyes. “Fuck, never would have thought you even knew how to talk like that. Ain’t real proper for an officer of th’ law.”

“Good thing I ain’t a cop anymore, then,” Rick chuckles. He tucks his cock away, fastening his pants again and reaching for his shirt. “You gonna wash yourself off, before you get dressed?”

“Dunno,” he hums, baring his throat to his alpha and shuddering when Rick bites at his pulse, blunt teeth and pressure that makes him tremble, but it’s not hard enough to bruise. Not this time. “Might just clean off th’ dirt an’ leave the rest, walk around with yer mark on my skin. Gonna smell like you for _days_.”

“Fucking Christ, Daryl.” Rick kisses him again, wet and filthy, and he moans as his alpha possesses his mouth. When they separate with a noise that makes his skin tingle, he sighs and nuzzles under the man’s jaw, licking the sweaty skin and loving the taste of him on his tongue. “You’re not doin’ that. If I have to walk around with _my son_ and Michonne, knowing my cum is on your skin, I’m gonna end up fucking you on your knees on the railroad tracks.”

The image that conjures up makes his eyes roll back and his cock twitch, a deep hum rumbling up from his belly. “Shit, fine, fine, okay,” he hisses. “Get offa me, then, so’s I can go find a fuckin’ stream or somethin’. Get gone, farmer Grimes. Go back to your son. I’ll join you in a minute.” It won’t take long—he can hear the gurgle of a creek nearby. He’ll wash up quickly and get dressed before rejoining his pack.

“You’ve got five, Dixon, before I come lookin’. You don’t want me to do that.” The threat is playful, but holds plenty of potential to not be, so he shivers and nods. As soon as Rick lets him up, he grabs his clothes and heads for the creek. The water is frigid, but he’s not fully submerging himself, so he deals with it. Three minutes later, he’s dressed and curling up beside Rick, Michonne across the fire from them and Carl a warm, sleeping presence at his alpha’s back. A soft kiss is pressed to his forehead, quiet words whispered into the air between them that he returns sleepily, his eyes already closed.

“Good night, darlin’.”

“G’night, alpha.”

Daryl sleeps.

 

 

 

Terminus is full of people that remind him too much of the Governor, only this place is worse, because they’re _all_ like this. They smile and project themselves as nice, caring people, but the scent of blood is heavy in the air and the collective scent of their deception and hunger makes him think of cold winters and raving beasts, of legends of wendigoes who used to be men until they ate their own kind, and then had to keep eating because nothing else would ease their hunger.

That’s what Gareth makes him think of, the man’s smile too scripted, his voice too friendly. When one of the men had patted him down, joking about his face and not wanting to see the other guy, Rick’s voice had growled out of him as he watched someone else touch the archer. Daryl had met his alpha’s eyes, refusing to look away. Now he’s standing, rocking forward with his crossbow raised, ready to fire the second the command is given.

“Where did you get this watch?” Rick snarls, forcing his gun against the man’s jaw until the wolf can smell blood vessels rupturing, a bruise already starting to bloom. The guy gives some bullshit answer about finding it on a corpse, the lie reeking of fear that doubles when Rick swings him toward the poncho.

 _They were here, alpha. We gotta find them._ Daryl’s already inhaling, scenting the air and untangling the jumbled mess, working through each set of scents and discarding them until he locks onto the ones that belong to their pack. _C’mon!_

They run, working their way through Terminus and letting themselves be herded even if they make it seem like it’s not a willing choice, tearing through the room full of candles and cryptic messages painted across the walls and slipping through another door, emerging out into the sunlight again and swerving to follow the path laid out before them by the bullets biting into the ground at their feet.

When they stop, tense, Daryl sniffs again and whines. _Maggie. Glenn. Sasha. **Bob**. No Tyreese. God, no Judith. Weren’t here, though, no trace of ‘em. Four others, too. Two men, two women. Three betas, one alpha. Smell like Glenn and Maggie. Gotta get in there. Gotta get to the pack._

The thoughts tumble from him to Rick in a split second as they lower their weapons and he watches his alpha follow Gareth’s orders, every muscle coiled and ready as he walks over to the train car. When Daryl is instructed to follow, he does so, Michonne moving once he’s settled behind Rick. Carl looks at them, standing tall and proud even though he smells a little like fear, doing his best not to show it. Daryl brushes against his mind, crooning softly, and when Gareth orders Rick to enter the car, his alpha refuses.

“My son!” he shouts.

Then Carl is joining them, and Rick is happy to comply, dragging open the door and stepping inside with the rest of them behind him. As soon as it rolls shut, Daryl hears someone come and secure them, but he doesn’t care about that right now, because his pack is stepping into the meager light, Glenn’s voice soft and trembling as he calls out Rick’s name. The others come forward then, too, all of them, and even though the reunion is bittersweet, the air filled with tense relief to find one another alive but wondering for how long that will be, it doesn’t matter. They’re together again, touching and reaffirming with physical sensation what they can’t quite believe with their eyes. Daryl presses close to Bob and whines, a sound that’s echoed by the other wolf. He can smell the man’s injury and nudges his good shoulder, silently asking if he’s okay.

“I’ll be fine. You have no idea how good it is to see your face,” the medic laughs.

“Yours too,” he grunts. “Thought you were fuckin’ dead. Thought everyone was.”

“Beth?” Maggie asks him softly, approaching slowly. It’s not an act of caution, just a courtesy in case she’s interrupting something. There’s no fear tainting her scent when she reaches out and touches his shoulder, and Daryl whines quietly.

“Taken.” When her eyes fill with tears, he shakes his head. “Not bit. Taken. People in a car.”

“We’ll find her, then,” she whispers, and he nods.

“Yeah.”

“What do we do now?” Glenn asks, and they all look at Rick. He looks right back at them, at Abraham, and Tara, and Eugene, and Rosita—new faces, but all of them already deferring to him, recognizing him for what he is to the others.

His alpha hums thoughtfully, glancing his way, and Daryl bares his teeth.

_With you always, alpha._

“They’re gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out,” Rick decides as he steps up to the crack in the door, peering out at the people Daryl can hear moving around outside. Anticipation fills the air, burning and setting fire to the embers smoldering within his pack.

“Find out what?” Abraham asks. The wolf glances at the redhead, narrowing his eyes slightly. He’s the one who smells like an alpha. That might become a problem after they get away from Terminus.

Rick looks at them and grins, the Wild burning in his eyes, burning in Daryl’s blood, and he knows his eyes are golden when his alpha glances at him. Their bond swells, filling with determination to protect their pack, and his leader growls with a finality that cannot be disputed.

“They’re fucking with the wrong people.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick lays his claim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck. Terminus. FUCK THOSE FUCKING ASSHOLES.
> 
> ALSO. PORN. MAJOR CLAIMING PORN. SO MIND THE TAGS.
> 
> It's snowing you guys. I went out and rolled in it. Like a puppy dog. It was glorious. I felt the need to tell y'all. Also, I want to thank each and every one of you SO, SO FUCKING MUCH for all of your amazing comments, and the support you've given me with this. It's not over yet, there's still plenty more to write, but I felt the need to say a huge thank you, and that every single one of you deserve hugs and love forever and ever and you're all fantastic. It makes me have the feels so hardcore.

Daryl’s on his knees with a strip of cloth cutting into the sides of his mouth and fucking zip-ties binding his wrists and ankles. Rick's kneeling beside him, Bob on his knees on his alpha’s right side, and the person on Daryl’s left between the archer and Glenn. They’ve already bled out three people, and the bat has swung towards the back of Glenn’s head once, stopped before it could make contact because of bullshit conversations he’s not convinced aren’t just happening to make them panic even more. Bob’s pleading with them, saying something about one of them knowing how to fix everything; the bitter scent of burned coffee stinging Daryl’s nose. He’s working at his gag, chewing on it to keep from snarling, biding his time while Gareth crouches down to have a conversation with Rick after freeing his mouth.

“Saw you go into the woods with a bag and come out without it,” he comments, too close by far but still somehow not near enough. He can feel his alpha’s desire to lunge, but for now he stays put. “What was in it?”

Rick stares at him, his eyes burning with the force of hurricanes. Daryl dips his head, trying to keep the Wild in check. His skin is crawling with the desire to shift, his eyes flickering between blue and gold. When the man keeps pressing, he tamps it down enough for his eyes to stay blue as he glares at him.

“You hid it, right? In case things went bad? Smart, yeah, but still, we’ll find it. Too dangerous to go out right now, though.”

When Gareth grabs Bob and pulls him forward, toward the knife in his hand, his wolf snarls at the clear threat tactic. “What was in it?” he asks again. Bob tries to soothe Daryl, brushing against his mind and whispering _I’m fine, pack brother, I’m fine. Been through worse._ “I’m curious, and it was a big bag.” Still, he doesn’t get what he’s looking for, and he rolls his eyes in frustration. “You’re really going to let me do this?”

The knife inches closer to Bob’s eye.

“Let me take you out there,” his alpha growls, lifting his head into the more dominant position while not baring his throat. “I’ll show you.”

“Not gonna happen,” Gareth huffs, smirking. “But this might.” He gestures at Bob’s eye with the knife, creeping it a little closer, and Daryl whines in Rick’s mind. _Not worth it, alpha. Not if it means losing one of our own. Just tell him. We’ll get it all back, you know we will._

So Rick tells him, listing off every single weapon while his mind settles soothingly over Daryl’s. “AK-47, a .44 Magnum; automatic weapons, night scope. There’s a compound bow, and,” he drags it out, bobbing his head like he’s thinking, when what he’s doing is playing with his food. Daryl tries to press their legs together the best he can, wants nothing more than to shift and lunge but knows what will happen if he does. Rick finally finishes speaking, a smirk playing faintly across his lips. “And a machete with a red handle.” His lip curls, all trace of playfulness gone, leaving behind only the predator as he growls his vow. “That’s what I’m gonna use to kill you.”

Gareth laughs and thanks him, putting the gag back in place and standing to talk to his people again. He may be acting like he’s amused, like he doesn’t believe Rick’s threat, but Daryl knows an alpha when he sees one, and that man is not one. He’s closer to being like Daryl, closer to omega, but trying hard to play with the big boys. It’s what’s going to be his undoing, and the archer will revel in watching everything crumble around him. His alpha’s words have made the man wary, have done their job well, and he croons his praise to the man, baring his throat metaphorically because he can’t currently do so physically.

Daryl hears the faint sound of gunfire, and then the explosion rocks the room, jolting him forward painfully into the metal trough before he's scrambling back. Rick falls beside him, catching his gaze. The butchers are panicking, squabbling like children, and Rick gets himself free using the chunk of wood he’s taken from the train car, cutting his bonds and driving the makeshift stake into the frightened men before cutting Glenn free. Daryl’s already broken his own ties, too impatient to wait any longer and rubbing his sore wrists to get the circulation going. He frees Bob before his alpha can, bumping his forehead against the other wolf’s before they’re both getting to their feet and looking for anything they can use to defend themselves. Walkers are inside of Terminus, no-doubt brought by the explosion, and he can hear people screaming underneath the cover of gunfire as they’re torn apart. So long as it’s no one from his pack, he can’t be fucked to care.

“Sounded like a bomb,” Glenn mentions, already focused on the tools Daryl spotted a moment before him.

“Sounds like a damn war,” he growls, checking the saws before grabbing the blade he figures will do the most damage. When Bob tries to kill the butchers, Rick growls at him to let them turn and the medic stands down.

“Who the hell are these people?” the Asian man demands to know, and Daryl rumbles angrily.

“They ain’t people,” he sneers, because they’re not. They’re worse than the Claimers, worse than the Governor. He doesn’t care about how it happens, just that they burn this place to the ground, and all of the people with it. It doesn’t make them like the Governor, not in his mind. It’s nothing at all like what that man did to their home, because they weren’t planning on fucking eating him if he’d just taken the damn offer and let them all try to cohabitate in peace. These monsters didn’t even give them a chance before caging them like animals and hauling them off to slaughter. He has no pity for any suffering they endure at the hands of his alpha and the rest of his pack.

Rick agrees with his dark thoughts, putting them to words. “You come across any of these people,” the man growls, looking at the carcasses that are already strung up and prepared, “you kill them. You _do not_ hesitate. They won’t.” Their eyes meet, glowing blue and dark gold, the Wild burning in both of them, and they all move toward the door, drawn by the hungry hissing of the walkers. Daryl drives his elbow into a hollow pipe until he can rip a piece of it away, leaving a jagged weapon that will suit him just fine in case he loses the knife.

“We have to let those people out,” Glenn whispers, all of them looking toward the shipping containers the walkers are clawing at, drawn by the frightened prisoners inside. When Rick looks at him, the Asian man squares his shoulders. “That’s still who we are,” he insists. “It’s gotta be.”

Daryl agrees, nudging his alpha’s mind gently and whining. _Can’t be like them, alpha. Can’t be like any of them. Won’t be us anymore, if we are._

Rick accepts that with a nod, accepts Glenn’s words as well as Daryl’s, and they all ready themselves before his alpha throws the door open wide and they lunge out into the chaos.

 

 

 

Terminus falls, and they weren’t even the ones to start its collapse. He can’t find in it himself to be too upset about it, though, because they still accomplished what they’d decided to do, which was burn that place and everything it stood for. The pack is together again, even stronger than before and with four new additions. Once they’re safely away, out in the woods and secure in the knowledge that no one is going to follow them, they take a minute to stop and just breathe while Rick kneels to dig up the bag of weapons. Abraham isn’t satisfied with stopping, clearly ready to just _go_ , and Daryl growls at his tone while Rick lays out his plan.

“They don’t get to live,” he says coldly, eyes flicking past them all, back to Terminus. Daryl agrees with his alpha, because none of them deserve to live, but he also understands where the rest of the pack is coming from. It’s not safe, going back toward that many walkers. He reaches out, whining quietly, and Rick meets his gaze. This time, he doesn’t let himself look away, not immediately.

 _It’s not worth it, Rick. Not worth possibly losing them. Not now that we’re together again._ He stresses his desire to be with his pack, as whole as they can be; to find somewhere safe for themselves, somewhere new that they can try to live for as long as they can. _Please._

His alpha relents, the line of his shoulders relaxing, and then he looks up and a scent tickles Daryl’s nose, sweet and light like buttercups and rose hips hidden beneath walker blood. He hears someone coming toward them and looks back, glancing over his outstretched arm and digging his claws into the trunk of the tree he’s braced himself against when he sees who it is.

_Carol._

It’s Carol. She’s _alive_ , a gun strap sliding down one arm and nervous hope on her face. The whine that spills from him is all wolf, his Wild blood singing as he runs toward the woman and barely remembers to pull his strength enough not to send her crashing to the ground as they collide. He wraps his arms around her, clinging tightly and whimpering, tucking his nose against her collarbone and breathing her in with deep, quick huffs as she hugs him back and lets him pick her up, lets him press his scent into her skin because time has leeched it away; lets him make her _pack_ again.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, Pookie,” she teases him, her voice wet and too quiet for the others to hear. He chokes on another whine, clinging to her even tighter, probably hurting her, but she doesn’t tell him to stop. Her tears smear across his vest, and Rick rumbles approvingly in his mind. When his alpha follows that up with a gentle nudge, trying to coax him away, he whimpers.

 _It’s okay, Daryl,_ the man promises, nudging a little more firmly. _It’s okay._

Rick’s not going to banish her again. He’s not going to make her leave. He promised, so Daryl finally loosens his hold and steps aside; lets his alpha approach but doesn’t go far.

“Did you do that?” Rick asks, and she doesn’t have to pretend like she doesn’t know. Daryl knew it the second he saw her, knows what she’s done for them even after what Rick did to her. Her loyalty runs nearly as deep and as strong as his own, so when she gives a barely-there nod, tears in her eyes, the archer smiles and Rick pulls her into his arms. “ _Thank you_ ,” his alpha whispers, and then they’re pulling apart and Carol squeezes Rick’s arms.

“You have to come with me,” she says softly, and no one questions it. Daryl accepts his bow when she hands it over, unable to stop himself from pressing his cheek against her shoulder and nuzzling her, whining softly. Beneath the scent of smoke and walkers, he picks up something else, something that makes his heart thump painfully in his chest.

He smells baby formula. Carol smells like baby formula, and she leads them up the road, not taking them very far. They come up to a little house in time to see Tyreese backing out of the door, and as soon the man turns around, Daryl sees a tiny body and downy-soft hair, and then Rick and Carl are running. His alpha takes Judith into his arms with tears in his eyes, making quiet crooning sounds in the back of his throat while he pets her head and Carl touches her back, the two of them smelling so much like love and hope that it makes Daryl weak. He whines softly, butting his mind against Rick’s to share his overwhelming joy with his alpha. Rick looks at him, his eyes alive in a way they haven’t been since the night he killed Joe.

_Come here._

That’s an order he refuses to ignore, but rather than just running forward the way he desperately wants to, he shrugs his bow off his shoulder and rests it on the ground; slides his vest off and lays it over his weapon while everyone but Rick, and Carl, and Michonne, and Bob all look at him askance. He ignores them, ignores the four new people eyeing him up and down, as he unbuttons his shirt and lets it fall where it wants; kicks off his boots and drags his socks off before he’s unbuckling his belt and stripping out of his pants, too. As soon as he’s free, he shifts, embracing the Wild in him with ease and hardly waiting for the last changes to settle before he’s loping toward his alpha, toward their baby girl. She coos as soon as she sees him, giggling and reaching out with eager little hands while Rick cradles her head and presses kisses into her blonde hair.

“You’ve done this before,” his alpha murmurs, looking between Daryl and the cub, who is squirming in earnest now. As soon as the wolf is settled, curling around his leader’s legs and looking up at the baby in his arms, Rick crouches down and lays her against his side. She squeezes his fur in her fists—tugs too hard, just like he knew she would—and his heart fills with so much love and adoration that he feels like he’s going to burst as he tenderly licks her head, grooming her for the first time in too, too long.

 _She’s alive,_ he whispers, his mind-voice filled with awe and a joy that’s mirrored by his alpha. _She made it, she’s safe. We’re all safe, alpha. We’re all together._ He nuzzles her tiny chest, closing his eyes as she pats at his muzzle and gurgles. He can hear the pack coming closer, all but the four newest, can smell their mingled scents as they blend with ease once again.

“Knew you were too much like a wolf for a reason,” Glenn huffs, choking out amused laughs as he reaches down to rest his hand between Daryl’s ears. He rumbles playfully at the Asian man, butting against the touch and licking some of the sweat and grime from his wrist. “Oh, dude, gross.” Glenn is laughing though, looking lighter and freer as he wipes the wolf’s drool off on his filthy shirt.

“Oh, Pookie,” Carol chuckles. Daryl looks at her and wags his tail, trying not to wiggle too much lest he disturb the baby he’s wrapped around. “I always knew you were something special. Just gotta be outside the box all the time, don’t you.”

 _Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t,_ he replies cheekily, their connection only slightly distorted by static. She takes hearing him in her mind in stride, putting her hands on her hips and shaking her head fondly.

One by one, the pack gathers around Rick and Daryl, who have Judith between them still. They all reach out to touch him, stroking his fur. Sasha seems to be enamored with his ears, playing with them and rubbing them until he’s blissful and pliant, something close to a purr making them tease him about having a little bit of cat in him, too.

“Mind if I join this party?” Bob asks, his dark brown eyes dancing as he looks at Daryl. The others don’t understand what he means, but the archer does, and he gives the medic a cool look before he barks.

_I’d be pissed if you didn’t. Get the fuck on with it. They deserve to know._

Rick catches that, so immersed in Daryl’s mind that the alpha is bound to catch any conversation he has with anyone. He feels his curiosity, but knows he’ll wait to see what they mean—already suspects what the outcome will be, and sure enough, he’s the only one who isn’t surprised when Bob strips down to nothing right then and there and shifts. The black wolf shakes his fur out and sighs blissfully, digging his claws into the soil.

 _God, that feels so much better,_ he groans. His tail wags furiously. _Ain’t been able to do that since the last time you and I went out in the woods._

The pack shifts most of their attention to Bob then, which Daryl is grateful for. As pleased as he is to have them all accept him, that many people crowding around him, touching him, still makes him uncomfortable. While Sasha coos over Bob’s wolf, smelling like interest and affection, Daryl presses his head into Rick’s chest and feels Judith’s soft hair against his jaw.

 _All of us, alpha,_ he whispers, so overcome that he almost can’t handle it. _All of us._

_We’ll be just fine, Daryl. Nothing can stop us._

“Well, this is cute.”

As one, the entire pack looks over at Abraham. The man is resting his gun on his shoulder, free hand on his hip, as he looks at all of them. He’s got a frown on his face, his features severe, and the smells from him are a tangled mess that raises the hackles down Daryl’s spine. Is the redheaded man really going to start problems _right now_?

“Is something the matter?” Rick asks casually, laying his hand on Daryl’s shoulder for balance as he turns without standing up, every inch of him radiating danger as he looks at the soldier. The pale wolf curls his lips back to show his teeth, growling in warning.

“Yeah, something’s the matter. Why the fuck are we still standing here? We should be gone. _Long_ gone.”

Rick stands then, brushing his hands together and tilting his head as he looks past Abraham and the other three, toward Terminus. “Can’t tell if the fire’s still burning,” he muses. Daryl looks at the black smoke rising above the trees, and he knows it is. Carol echoes his thoughts with words.

“It is.”

“Hard to tell how long it’ll stay that way. We should get going, before it draws anything else.” Rick looks at him, then at Judith. Daryl uncurls himself enough for his alpha to pick up the cub, cradling his daughter in his arms again and supporting her head when she leans back to coo up at her father. Once Li’l Asskicker is safe and sound, he pads back to his clothes and shifts, getting dressed quickly and keeping his back facing away from the newcomers. Tara is looking at him with delight, probably bursting with everything she wants to say but won’t. She doesn’t know him, after all, and he doesn’t know her—any questions, or too much interest, and he knows he’s just going to snap at her; at any of the other three, too. Especially Abraham. He eyes the soldier, who is looking far too impatient for his tastes.

 _I don’t like that one, alpha,_ he rumbles. _I think he’s going to give us problems._

_If he does, we’ll deal with it._

When Rick looks at him, he nods imperceptibly and offers his throat, feeling the swell of desire from the man when he does so. Bob looks up, ears pricked forward curiously, and then grins wolfishly.

 _Told you_ , he sing-songs, and Daryl growls at him without heat.

_Shut the fuck up._

 

 

 

They wander out of the cover of the woods and find a neighborhood that looks like it hasn’t been hit too hard. Picking the biggest house that they can find, Daryl and Glenn take point to clear it, dragging the bodies out into the back yard and leaving them for morning. They raid the pantry, looking for anything they can eat, while the pack splits off into smaller groups and hits the houses around the one they’ve claimed.

“You could have told us,” the younger man mutters, and Daryl glances over at him. He’s pretending to read the label of something, and doing a very bad job of it, because everything’s in Spanish and his scent betrays him.

“Did tell ya, didn’t I?” Plucking the can from his packmate’s fingers, he squints at it and then takes a curious sniff, even knowing that it will do no good.

“After how long?”

“Climb down outta my asshole, Chinaman. Was my secret to tell when I was ready to tell it. Done told y’all now. Be happy.”

“Rick knew,” Glenn points out. “You trusted him, but not us?” He smells like hurt, like bittersweet sour-apple. Daryl huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Ain’t like that. He found out the same time as you, if you saw me at the prison. If anything, Carl and Maggie knew first. Jesus fuck, quit bitchin’ and start lookin’ for cans.” He says it fondly, though, cuffing the back of Glenn’s head gently as he turns away. As he leaves, he smells his packmate’s calming scent, which reminds him of chamomile tea. He can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him without his permission, and hurries off before he has to explain what’s so funny.

Rick finds him in the master bedroom, sniffing around—literally—for anything that might come in handy. His alpha is holding Judith, rubbing her back tenderly as she sleeps against his chest. “Find anything?” he asks, and Daryl looks back over his shoulder at him.

“Not much,” he admits, his stomach fluttering as he tries to play cool. Rick knows he’s found something, though, arching an eyebrow and reaching out to settle over his mind. Heat fills his eyes when he senses Daryl’s growing eagerness.

“What’ve you got there then, Daryl?” he rumbles. It’s so low, so powerful and possessive, that he can’t stop his whine as he turns to show his alpha the bottle of lubrication he’s got clenched in his hand. His alpha’s eyes get even darker, pupils dilating and eating up the stormy blue. “Find somethin’ you like, darlin’?” he asks. He smells like deep woods and rut-scent again, and the archer could get high off of the combination, his eyelids growing heavy from the desire to sink to his knees and crawl toward his alpha, to nuzzle against his thighs and bite at his hips. He wants the man’s cock in his mouth, in his ass, wants his alpha to mount him and claim him properly this time. He’s almost shaking because he needs it so badly.

“Rick,” he whimpers, looking down at the bottle in his hands and then flicking his eyes up again shyly, tilting his head to bare his throat. He watches as the human prowls closer and knows his eyes are gold again, his need plain to see.

“Need it bad, don’t ya, darlin’?” his alpha purrs. Daryl whines and nods, pressing closer and minding where Judith is as he tucks his face up under his alpha’s jaw, licking at his skin and his beard, rubbing his cheek against the man’s throat and making tiny little whine-growls as his cheeks flush and his blood burns.

_Please, alpha, you promised. You promised you would, soon as we found somethin’._

“And I’ll keep my promise.” Rick lets him nuzzle and lick; croons softly to soothe him from the state he’s worked himself into. “Tonight. As soon as everyone’s asleep. You’re gonna beg me again, Daryl, and you’re gonna take exactly what I give you, and this time you’re not gonna come until I say. Understood?”

_Yes, I understand._

“You gonna behave for me until then, darlin’?”

“Alpha, please,” he rasps. The rest he can wait for, but he’s desperate for something, _anything_ , that will tide him over until then. Rick tuts at him and pulls back, leaving Daryl feeling bereft.

“Are you going to behave for me, Daryl?”

“Fuck. Fucking Christ, _yes_ , I’ll behave. Just, just let me, please-” He dips his head and looks at Rick’s lips, whining mournfully. Just a kiss. If he can just have a kiss, he’ll be okay until tonight. His alpha must understand how badly he’s in need of contact between them, because he shifts Judith carefully until he’s supporting her with one arm, and then he’s reaching out to take the lube, setting it aside on the nightstand before pulling the archer in; slamming their mouths together and slipping his tongue in for Daryl to suckle on. His groan makes the wolf whine, his hips rocking against the air as he sucks and nibbles and tangles his hands in Rick’s shirt where it hangs over his hips, trying so hard to be good. He wants to be good for his alpha, and Rick rumbles at the desperate mess of his thoughts, no barriers between them and everything leaking through.

_Good boy, Daryl. That’s my good omega._

He has to rip himself away then, panting for air and squeezing his eyes shut as he fists his hands in his hair. He’s still whining, soft little sub-vocal things, and when Rick touches his knuckles he relaxes enough to release his own painful grip; rumbles contentedly when his alpha strokes his hair.

“Just a few more hours, darlin’. And then you’ll be mine in every way.”

“Mates for life,” he whispers, the words scraping roughly out of him like he’s been gargling sand paper and rocks. “Wolves mate for life.”

“That sounds perfect to me. Go on and get something to eat now. You’ll need your strength.” There’s a glimmer in Rick’s eyes, a heavy promise in his voice. Daryl shudders and can do nothing but obey, heading for the dining room where they’ve all piled their collective finds. He’s not even sure what he ends up eating, just grabbing the first can he sees that isn’t vegetables and getting it open with the hand-held can opener someone managed to dig up. He eats with his fingers, licking them clean, and vaguely pays attention to the conversations happening around him. When Carol hands him a second can, already opened, he blinks at her.

“You need more than that to keep you going, Daryl. I’m amazed you’re still alive, for as little as you end up eating. And we’ve got more than enough for right now.”

“Always ate when I was huntin’,” he mumbles defensively. She’s insistent, though, and won’t leave him be until he caves and accepts the second helping, eating it the same way he ate the first and tasting nothing. He keeps thinking of Rick’s promise, of what’s going to happen between them, and the anticipation makes him squirm more than once, empty and aching and knowing that in just a few hours Rick is going to claim him, is going to _mate_ with him.

The minutes crawl by. By the time the sun starts to set, Daryl is on edge and ready to snap, pacing on the front porch because he’d called dibs on first watch. Rick had already taken watch when they’d first found the house, so the archer knows that neither of them are going to be needed for the rest of the night, not until well after dawn. He’s even more on edge than he was the night they were reunited, the first night Rick had him face down and ass up like a bitch, gagged and gagging for it. He feels like he’s in heat again, could swear he feels slick on his thighs as he stalks back and forth from one side of the porch to the other.

When Sasha comes out to relieve him an hour after dark, he barely manages to give her a nod before he’s slipping inside and taking the stairs two at a time. Everyone is exhausted after their harrowing day, sleeping soundly. He makes hardly any sound as he strides down the hallway, pausing only long enough to check on Carol and Judith. The woman has bonded very closely with the cub in the time she’s been with her and Tyreese, the den mother in her roaring to life with a vengeance. She’s sleeping soundly with Judith on her chest, so he closes the door the rest of the way, and then he’s stumbling into Rick’s room. He barely has time to get the door closed behind him before he’s being shoved back against it, a strong thigh slipping between his and a hot mouth claiming his own. He whines and claws at the back of Rick’s shirt, accepting his alpha’s tongue and rocking frantically against the thigh stimulating his cock.

_Need it, Rick, need you._

“I know,” the human rumbles, pulling back to growl the words against his swollen mouth, biting at his lower lip. Daryl rubs their jaws together, whimpering as he licks and grinds down and his hole aches with the need to be stuffed full. Rick starts to strip him, fast but careful, pushing his vest from his shoulders and getting him out of his shirt before he steps back to pull his own off. “Get outta those pants and on the bed,” he growls.

Daryl obeys, kicking himself free of them before falling onto the mattress. He braces himself on his forearms, back sloping and hips raised; already reaching for the corner of the comforter because he knows he’s going to need to gag himself with something or he’ll wake the entire house, and he doesn’t want them to see this. Not just because it’s embarrassing, but because this isn’t for them to witness. Him, like this, his cock hard and already leaking, his hips bucking against nothing—this is just for his mate.

“So fuckin’ filthy, darlin’,” Rick hisses. The bed sinks beneath his weight, the cap of the lube pops open, and Daryl whines as cold, wet fingers circle his entrance, teasing him until he forces his hips back and one presses forward at the same time. There’s a moment of resistance and a burning ache, but he will not be denied, so he bites down harder on the blanket and fucks himself onto his alpha’s long, clever finger until it’s in him, twisting and crooking down, hitting something that makes him howl and lose his mind.

He cums, he can’t stop himself, his hole clenching sporadically as he writhes and paints strips over the comforter. _I can’t, alpha, I can’t, please I didn’t mean to. Please don’t stop._

 _Hush, darlin’. I’m not mad. Gonna make you do it again,_ Rick croons, and he whimpers as another finger presses into him, the stretch more intense but still not enough, not getting as deep as he needs. _Gonna make you come until there’s nothin’ left for you to give me, and then I’m gonna fill you up, breed you full._

 _Yes, yes, please, you have to. Alpha, alpha **please**_. He wants Rick to fill him until he can’t hold anymore, his hole fucked wide open and sloppy as his alpha’s cum leaks out of him. He sends that mental image, hanging his head and chewing on his gag until it’s soaked and three fingers are shoving into him again and again.

“You should see yourself, darlin’. So fucking perfect, taking me so well. You’re a greedy thing, aren’t you, already three fingers full and still wanting more. Think you can take my cock now, Daryl? Think you deserve it?”

Fucking Christ, Rick is so goddamn _filthy_. He loves it, nodding and forcing himself back on the man’s fingers when they try to leave, clenching down to try and hold them inside of him as they twist, knuckles scraping over his walls until his eyes blur with tears and he’s coming again, the constant rubbing against his prostate ripping his orgasm from him and sending fur rippling down his spine.

 _Now, alpha, you gotta do it now. Fuck me. Make me yours. Mark me so no one ever questions it_ , he demands, tilting his head down more to show the nape of his neck.

Rick mounts him, there’s no other word to describe it, and Daryl spreads his knees wider to accommodate the other man, feeling the head of his alpha’s cock nudge against his balls before it’s dragging over his taint and pressing between his cheeks, nudging his loose hole until he presses back, aching for it and chewing the blanket to pieces as he begs with his body as well as his mind. When he feels teeth pressing against the first knob of his spine, framing it perfectly, he can’t wait anymore. He shoves back, and Rick slams forward, and Daryl howls as his alpha’s teeth sink into his flesh until blood wells up and runs in little trails down the sides of his throat, dripping to the bed and pooling in the dip of his shoulders. It smears across Rick’s skin, welling up and finding a new trail where they’re pressed too tightly together.

That first thrust is hard and rough and _perfect_ , and Daryl’s so overwhelmed that he can’t even beg anymore, his jaw going slack and the blanket edging out a little bit each time his body is forced forward. His whine is too high, almost silent, drool leaking down his chin until some of Rick’s fingers swipe it up and feed it back to him. He closes his lips around the digits and suckles sweetly, whimpering and rocking back, trying to get the human even deeper. The Wild is burning through both of them, his eyes golden and his canines sharp enough to slice his alpha’s fingers, tasting blood on his tongue that makes him even more frantic. He’s clawing at the covers, ripping gouges in them, somewhere between wolf and man as Rick snarls and bites him harder, holding on when he thinks the archer is trying to get away; tightening his other arm around Daryl’s waist and using that to haul him back onto his cock like the man isn’t already trying to keep it as deep inside of him as he can.

 _Mine_ , Rick snarls in his mind, possessive and proud as he lays claim to every fiber of the wolf, every nerve and synapse. He sinks into every part of Daryl, the link wide open and letting every piece of him sink into his alpha as well. He comes again and doesn’t even realize it aside from a pitiful whine and the way he clenches around the cock inside of him, making everything feel so much _better_ that he has to do it again.

 _Yours, alpha, yours. Take me, take it all, fuckin’ fill me, please, I want you to. Wanna feel you for days, wanna walk around with you leakin’ out of me and remindin’ me every time I sit down,_ he begs, his eyes heavy and his arms useless. He can’t even hold himself up anymore, just has them tucked under his chest, knuckles bumping the underside of his chin. He can feel his muscles rippling every time he sucks on his alpha’s fingers until they’re gone suddenly, and then he’s whining at the loss of them, mouth open and empty.

“Such a filthy fucking mouth on you, Daryl,” the man rumbles, letting go long enough to whisper in his ear. He’s hooked his other arm around Daryl’s hips and is holding him in place while he ruts and the archer pants, his cock twitching uselessly because he’s got nothing left to give, came too much in too little time.

“Only for you,” he rasps, barely able to get the words out. Rick’s all the way inside of him now, grinding deep and refusing to pull out an inch until he bites the back of the wolf’s neck again and comes, growling and filling Daryl and making him purr, the echoes of his alpha’s orgasm shivering through his muscles and making him feel like he’s coming again. It’s too much, _too fucking much_ , and it’s perfect when Rick finally pulls back and his cum dribbles as some comes out as well, wetting the insides of his thighs and filling him with contentment. He squirms when Rick fingers his sore hole, petting the pads of his fingers against the gaping, twitching rim, plugging the rest of his cum inside when they slide back in.

“Think you could sleep like this, darlin’? Ain’t anywhere near done with you yet. Got a promise to keep, after all, and we’ve got hours until dawn. Think I might need to make you pay for comin’ before I said you could, too.”

 _You said you wasn’t mad_ , he whines, unable to make his vocal chords work again. He drags his arms out from underneath him and reaches back to touch the deep bite wound; hisses in pain, knowing it’s going to scar and only feeling happy about that, because it will be a permanent reminder that he’s taken, a clear warning to anyone that he’s off limits.

“And I’m not,” Rick soothes him, stroking his fingers against the archer’s prostate again and making him choke back his reedy sob as his overstimulated body trembles. “Still, can’t just let you get away with it, can I? Can’t have you thinkin’ it’s okay to come when I say no, or you’ll do it all the time.”

 _Fucking shit, stop talking. Just stop. Jesus Christ, Rick, where the hell did you learn to talk like that?_ He nuzzles the blanket beneath his cheek and smiles, loving how filthy the man is even if it makes him blush, loving how easy it is to submit to the man above him, knowing that he will never be teased for how desperate and hungry he is. Glancing back shyly, he tries to turn and bites his lip when the man’s fingers twist with him, when Rick’s weight settles over his thighs to hold him place as his other hand comes up to cup the archer’s jaw and help him so they can kiss each other slowly. The angle is a little uncomfortable, but he’ll deal with it if it means not losing the feeling of Rick’s fingers inside of him.

“Let me take care of you, darlin’,” his alpha croons. “Think you can do that?”

Daryl nods, smiling as he nuzzles briefly at his alpha’s chin before laying his head on the pillow Rick tugs over for him, closing his eyes and clenching briefly around the fingers still inside of him. They withdraw slowly, leaving him feeling empty but happy, because his alpha is stroking up and down his spine with slow, gentle touches, using his clean hand and minding the bite even though the wolf can already feel that it isn’t bleeding, his skin knitting together slowly.

_Thank you, alpha, for choosin’ me._

_Wouldn’t have picked anyone else. No other mate I’d rather have._

He likes that, likes Rick calling him his mate. It fills him with warmth, and he rumbles in tired pleasure as he curls his mind against his alpha’s and closes his eyes. He dozes, not really sleeping, while his mate rumbles softly and keeps petting him and their minds twine together, melding in a way that can never be undone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack finds a survivor who seems to be hiding something, and in a big way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry that I didn't post two chapters like I have been. I would have, if I hadn't had to be at work at an ungodly hour, and then I got busy and distracted after work. I WROTE YOU GUYS A NEW CHAPTER THOUGH. Woo. *dances*
> 
> Fucking Christ, I'm tired.
> 
> I don't want to kill Bob, guys. Please don't make me kill Bob. ;_________________;

Daryl pads along behind the rest of the pack, minding his gait, because Judith is sitting on his back. Rick is at his side, holding his daughter up for the most part, but the cub still seems to be thoroughly enjoying herself, babbling and giggling, smelling like raspberries and sugar while her little feet kick at his sides and she yanks on handfuls of his fur. He doesn’t mind too much, because she’s having fun, but when she decides to start pulling on his ears a little too hard, he rumbles quietly and she lets him go, trying to bounce herself with her father’s help.

Judith seems to be able to understand him without words needed. Maybe it’s because she’s still so young, and most of her needs and wants are expressed through her various emotions. All Daryl has to do is express his emotions in the same way, whining or rumbling, brushing so gently against her thoughts, and she responds the way a wolf cub would, cooing and petting the back of his neck until he wags his tail. Rick’s claiming bite doesn’t hurt anymore, had scarred over by the time the pack had left the house late the following afternoon. No one but Bob seems to know what has happened, but that’s not too surprising. He and Rick seem no different, as far as he’s aware. They’ve always been more prone to touching one another, so that’s nothing new. They’ve always been in each other’s spaces, and now their minds are so intertwined that there’s no way for them to ever fully untangle themselves. They still have their own thoughts, their own emotions—they just share everything in a constant loop unless they pull back slightly. Rick has shown no desire to do so, and the wolf feels the same. Being bonded with Rick hasn’t changed who he is. He’s still Daryl. Rick’s still Rick. They just carry parts of each other within themselves permanently now. When he looks up at his alpha, he sees the Wild in his eyes and knows it’s there to stay.

Bob drops back to walk on his other side, smiling widely and laying his hand on Daryl’s back. “You seem pretty happy,” he says. When Rick glances at him, the medic grins wider. “Congratulations on your happy joining. When can we expect the invitations?”

 _You shut your mouth_ , Daryl huffs, but his thoughts are too warm to give the words any bite. Rick chuckles and adjusts Judith’s position slightly, letting her lean forward when the cub yawns and starts smelling like magnolia flowers, her mind quieting as she gets tired. _Might wanna start carrying her, Rick. She’s about to fall asleep._

“I know,” his alpha murmurs, picking their baby girl up carefully and tucking her against his chest. She fusses a little, but he croons and rocks her until she settles. “Don’t know about invitations,” he adds, glancing at Bob and smiling. Daryl tilts his head, looking ahead of them to the rest of the pack. He eyes Abraham especially, smelling the man’s discontent and impatience - it reminds him of sour milk. It’s not a pleasant scent, and he wrinkles his nose. “We’ve already had the wedding night, as it were. Seems like they’d be a little too late.”

“When're you gonna tell them, then? If you’re worried about rejection, you’re crazy. There’s a bet going about who’s going to make the first move, and how long it will take.”

Daryl stops walking. _There’s a what._

Bob laughs at the look on the wolf’s face, as well as his buzzing thoughts. “Oh yeah. Maggie won, by the way. She bet that it would be Rick, although no one got the ‘when’ right, if that makes you feel better. In our defense, we were scattered at the time. But yeah, Maggie won.”

 _I hate you all_ , the archer announces, burning with embarrassment. He wrinkles his muzzle and bares his teeth. _My fuckin’ love life ain’t for your viewing pleasure and entertainment. Jesus fuck, y’all’re a bunch’a gossip whores. Fuck you._

“Aw, don’t be like that. It was all in good fun. I just brought it up so you know that no one’s going to judge you. You should know us all better than that by now.”

 _Easy, Daryl,_ Rick rumbles soothingly, nuzzling against his thoughts and making it impossible to hold onto his grumpiness. He wants to, though, sneezing in frustration and drawing several pairs of eyes. Even Abraham looks back, and the soldier slows to a lazy amble, letting the others slip around him until he’s close enough to talk to them without having to raise his voice.

“This is damn stupid,” he says, irritation dripping from his words. “We should be finding ourselves the first ride big enough to hold all of us and heading for Washington D.C. We need to get Eugene there so he can end this bullshit.”

The only thing that smells like bullshit is the story Eugene has woven for them about knowing how to stop the apocalypse. Daryl is well-versed in pantomime and storytelling, and everything the awkward human has told them, embellished with words most people couldn’t hope to understand, is absolute horseshit. Rick knows it too, has already determined that for himself, and he narrows his eyes in displeasure at Abraham’s tone.

“We’ll see,” is all his alpha says on the matter for the moment. “Let’s just try and recuperate and get ourselves some supplies for now. I want to talk to the others, and see what they think.”

“Why?” Abraham scoffs. “You’re their leader. If you say follow, they’ll follow.”

Rick growls, his eyes flashing bright, burning blue for a second. Daryl soothes his mate’s flaring temper, crooning softly as he presses against the man’s side and nuzzles him. “That’s not how we do things here,” his alpha rumbles, the air around him beginning to crackle with power. “I may lead, but I don’t make the decisions without their input. We’re a family, so we’ll decide together.” His eyes stray past Abraham, settling on Carol, and Daryl knows what he’s thinking about; how he made the decision to banish the woman, and yet she still came to help them. “That’s my final word on the matter, for now.”

The solider is clearly unhappy about it, but he also knows better than to push his luck, especially when Daryl starts to growl softly, his lips twitching. He watches the man back down, and only once he’s walking back toward the front of the group does the wolf let his bristling fur lay flat again. His golden eyes catch Eugene looking back at them, narrowing when the man—who doesn’t seem to realize that mullets went out of style a long time ago—looks away quickly, smelling like fear-sweat. He’s not afraid of Daryl because he’s a wolf. He’s afraid of him because he knows that the archer knows he’s lying.

They make camp not long after night falls. Daryl feeds Judith while Rick talks softly with Carol, both of them a tangle of smells—apprehension, fondness, and no little amount of guilt on his alpha’s part. He knows what they’re discussing, knows what Carol’s answer will be. When she decides to take watch, he follows her, human again and resting his crossbow against the ground so he can prop his chin on the butt of his weapon and look at her, waiting, until she gives in with a sigh.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says tiredly, not looking at him yet. She smells like pine woods, her words as cool as a fall wind and determined. “I can’t.” He waits, knowing there’s more, and sure enough, she adds in a quiet voice, “I just need to forget.” When she finally looks at him, silently asking for his understanding, he nods slightly.

“Alright.”

He’s expecting them to fall into silence again after that, glancing away when he hears a noise that doesn’t sound like normal nocturnal activity. The tread is too heavy, too deliberate, and when a twig snaps he’s on his feet, lifting his crossbow and inhaling deeply as he peers into the darkness. He sees flashes of fabric, his eyes bleeding to gold as the Wild rises, his ears straining. It smells like a walker, but it’s not coming closer, and it’s not staggering along like a walker should be. He listens for a while longer, cocking his head to the side, but the sounds are getting further away, so he finally relaxes and looks at Carol. She’s sitting forward, hands ready on her gun, until he shakes his head.

“Was nothin’,” he mumbles, reaching out to touch Rick’s mind, finding him much easier than he’d been able to before they’d mated. His alpha sends him the equivalent of a mental nuzzle and a lick, which makes him shiver as he feels the ghostly apparition of the man’s tongue against his jaw. One by one, he checks in on the rest of the pack, most of them able to recognize his presence by now and responding warmly, even the ones who are asleep.

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Carol asks, settling her mind against his as he sits beside her again, the two of them curling around one another mentally the way packmates should. She lays her head on his shoulder, and he rests his cheek against her hair, breathing in the calming scent of lemongrass. “Did you really think we’d cast you out?”

“Some of you,” he admits, closing his eyes and tuning into the sounds of the woods around them, listening to an owl’s near-silent flight as she hunts the voles and mice that scurry across the forest floor. “’Sides, ain’t exactly somethin’ you can just come out and say, not without soundin’ like a crazy motherfucker.”

“We wouldn’t have shunned you, Pookie. You should know us better by now.” She sounds faintly scolding, but more fond than anything, and he huffs out a self-deprecating laugh.

“Yeah, and you should know me better. When have I ever had faith in people? Hell, how long did it take for me to trust any of you? Ain’t exactly a normal thing to tell someone. Didn’t wanna deal with people lookin’ at me different, so I just didn’t say anything. Wasn’t any of you. ‘S just me.”

They finish out their watch in silence. At some point, his packmate starts stroking his hair, so when Bob and Eugene come to relieve them, Daryl’s relaxed and pliant, rumbling contentedly and ready to sleep. He lets Carol leave first, bumping his forehead with Bob’s.

 _Heard somethin’ in the woods,_ he tells the other wolf, watching his eyes flash greenish-gold at the news. _Smelled like a walker, but wasn’t actin’ like one. Just keep yer ears open an’ yer nose primed._

 _Roger that. Go get some sleep, pack brother._ Bob knocks their heads together again, gently, the two of them sharing a friendly nuzzle before he trails after Carol. She’s not quite back at camp yet, waiting for him, and when he’s close enough she reaches out and grips his arm.

“You’re not that person anymore, Daryl,” she tells him. “You haven’t been in a long time. I know it’s hard to trust others, and I understand your reason for keeping this secret. I’m glad you told us, though.” She kisses his forehead, and this time he doesn’t flinch, not like he did the first time she ever tried to get too close. Then she’s heading for her sleeping bag, settling in beside Tyreese with a tired sigh. He can’t help but brush against her mind once more, thanking her without words, and he sees her smile in the flickering firelight before he’s turning and heading toward Rick.

“Been waitin’ for you,” his alpha murmurs once he’s settled beside the man, tucked against his side and reaching across him to stroke Judith’s soft hair, his fingers lingering on her sleeping face. Carl is already sleeping nearby, back to Maggie and facing Michonne. His pack is resting easily, even if they’re not as safe as they should be.

“Here now,” he mumbles back, tucking his face into the man’s neck and nuzzling against his steady pulse. They’re all used to sleeping almost on top of each other and waking up in a tangle of limbs, so he’s not worried about anyone asking questions. Even so, Carol’s words are still with him.

“What’s on your mind, darlin’?”

Pulling back enough to meet the curious gaze, he bites his lip and lets his eyes flutter shut when Rick brings up a hand to rub at his neck, obediently tipping his head back and to the side to give him access. “We should tell ‘em,” he whispers, laying his head down on his pack and trying not to yawn. It’s a battle he loses, but it’s okay, because Rick’s chuckle is nothing but affection as he dips his head to kiss the archer briefly. Their minds tangle the same way their bodies do, Rick’s settling over his while Daryl’s thoughts curl up against his alpha’s, soothing and sleepy.

“I’m for it if you are, darlin’. Maggie deserves to know she’s a winner.”

“Fuckin’ meddling pricks,” he huffs, but there’s no acid in the words like there used to be, back in the beginning. Now he’s just smiling, already sinking down into sleep. “G’night, Rick.”

“G’night, darlin’. Dream sweet for me.”

_Always do, alpha._

 

 

 

When he steps out of the woods and into the line of multiple guns aimed his way, Daryl blinks and holds up his hands, a line of squirrels dangling from one fist and his crossbow hanging from the other. He snorts, amused and sad, because he knows they’re reacting this way for a reason, and he hates that they feel so unsafe. So he tries to lighten the mood, joking around and saying, “We surrender.” The pack relaxes as one, and Rick gives him a look that is part irritation, part gratitude. The irritation isn’t directed at him, though, and Daryl flicks a glance over toward Abraham as he falls into step beside his alpha.

“No tracks. No nothin’,” he reports quietly. Rick growls.

“So whatever you heard last night?”

“Ain’t really what I heard. ‘S more what I felt,” he admits. “If someone’s watchin’ us, there would’a been somethin’.”

“Yeah.” Rick looks at the forest around them, his frown almost completely hidden by his growing beard. It’s the longest he’s let it get, and it suits him well. Daryl likes to nuzzle against it, likes the way it rubs and scratches at his skin and his mouth. He licks his lips quickly, thinking about beard burn and how it had felt the night Rick claimed him, biting the back of his neck, the beard rubbing his skin until it was red.

“I talked to the others,” his alpha says, and when Daryl starts in surprise and looks over guiltily, his mate is smiling and looking at him with heat in his eyes. “If it’s really going to be safe, they’re okay with heading for Washington.”

“You know that guy is full of shit,” the archer growls softly.

“I know. It’s not about that, though. It’s about finding somewhere safe for all of us. D.C seems like a good place to look.”

Daryl can’t argue with that, and he doesn’t really want to. Despite what lies Eugene has been spouting, despite what he has Abraham and the others believing, the wolf doesn’t want to keep dragging his pack across all of Georgia for the rest of their lives—however long those lives turn out to be. If Washington D.C really does have a place where they can be safe, he’ll take it. He glances back at Tyreese, who has Judith in a papoose on his back, and then looks at his alpha again and gives the subtlest of nods.

 _To Washington D.C we go_.

Satisfied, his mate nods and turns, whistling quietly and calling for the others to keep up before he’s falling into step with Abraham. The second he mentions finding a highway, the scent of relief from the soldier at his side is almost overwhelming. Daryl hadn’t realized that so much of the red-headed alpha’s tension was from banking on them agreeing to the possibility of Washington D.C. He looks so much lighter now, smiling broadly and talking quickly about finding the next road and hunting down a vehicle.

Figuring that’s settled, the wolf turns his attention to the rest of the pack, checking in on everyone quickly. He can’t help but smile as he hears Bob and Sasha talking about the pros and cons of things, the attraction between them palpable and growing stronger every day. He’s never seen the beta so happy, and he’s glad Sasha can give that to him. The same goes for her, because the woman is positively glowing as they share kisses before she’s dropping back to walk with Tyreese.

The sudden stench of fear, sour and churning, snaps him to attention the second before he hears someone shouting for help. He bolts ahead of the others, who are quick to follow, swinging his crossbow off of his shoulder and into his hands; raising it and readying himself as he hears the snarling walkers and smells their rotting corpses. Rick tries to call them back, tries to urge them to wait, but Carl’s desire to help and Daryl’s tension, the archer rocking up onto the balls of his feet and radiating distress as every muscle tenses, seem to override his caution for the moment, and he nods. That’s all they need, because Carl’s drawing his gun and Daryl’s already got an arrow notched as they come out of the trees and find a man up on a boulder, just barely out of reach of the walkers clawing at him. He watches as Carl shoots one of them, the others turning at the sound, and he makes a clean kill while Rick smashes the head of a third against the side of the boulder until there’s nothing left.

The rest of the pack surge in, doing what they need, and Daryl’s already got his bow reloaded to kill the last one before Carol manages to. She nods at him quickly, stepping back so he can retrieve his bolt while Rick coaxes the man—a priest, for fuck’s sake—off of the metaphorical and literal ledge. Once he’s on the ground again, he throws up. Whether it’s from fear or the horrid smell of the walkers is uncertain.

“Thank you,” he says fervently, trying to fix his clothes. “I’m Gabriel.”

“Do you have any weapons?” Rick asks, looking the man over. He looks soft, to Daryl—bald, his dark skin free of any grime, his scent too clean to have been out here for long. His reply, that the word of God is the only protection he needs, makes the archer snort.

“Sure didn’t look like it,” he sneers.

Gabriel looks at him and smiles nervously, shrugging a little. “I called for help,” he points out, looking at all of them. “Help came.”

This guy can’t be serious. Daryl stares at him, dumbfounded, as he admits to losing his food and accepts the pecans Carl hands over like they’re a gift from God himself. Wrinkling his nose, the wolf inhales, scenting the priest and getting too much guilt, too much fear. This man is running from something, something he did. He is not a good man, for all that he parades himself as a servant of God. When Gabriel’s nervous brown eyes fall on Judith after the cub lets out a quiet gurgle, he narrows his eyes.

“That is a beautiful child,” the man says, smiling even wider until the pack shifts closer, hands going to weapons and tension filling their faces. Daryl lifts his crossbow slightly, growling a quiet warning, and Rick stares hard at the priest, his alpha’s mind working quickly as darkness teases at the edges, creeping back in.

They all watch, silent and waiting, as Rick begins to pat Gabriel down while asking him the questions. When the priest admits that he hasn’t killed any walkers, Daryl isn’t surprised. What the hell kind of man is standing in front of them?

“How many people have you killed?” Rick makes absolutely sure there are no hidden weapons, even though everyone knows he’s not going to find so much as a pocket knife. The scent of fear gets stronger, and Daryl almost wants to cover his nose, because it smells like rotten fish to him.

“None,” Gabriel replies, and every inch of the wolf screams _liar_.

Gabriel has killed people, he just doesn’t want to admit it, and his bullshit reason when Rick growls out a terse, “Why?” is such a pitiful one that even Maggie rolls her eyes. Daryl bumps against his alpha’s mind, bleeding their thoughts together.

_Can’t be trusted, alpha. He’s hiding something._

_I know._

“You said you have a church?” Michonne asks. The priest nods.

 Rick steps back and looks Gabriel up and down before meeting the man’s frightened chocolate eyes with his own storm-dark gaze. “Take us to it.”

 

 

 

Gabriel is bad at telling jokes. Or maybe he’s just too stupid to know better than to tease a group of people holding guns, all of them a little more feral than they were before the prison, because they’ve lost too much since then. Daryl keeps close to the man, watching every move he makes the way a hawk watches a field mouse, the Wild close to the surface as the wolf paces just a few steps behind the man. Any conversation is tense, and dies out quickly, until they’re coming out of the forest and Gabriel’s church rises ahead of them.

It looks nice, like it’s been tended to lovingly. There’s no sign at all of walkers, but Daryl can smell them nearby. Even though he knows the church is empty, he still falls back, deferring to Rick when the man makes it clear that he wants to check things out. Gabriel hands over the key without question, wincing when Rick throws his joke back in his face but saying nothing.

They sweep the church, Rick heading inside first with Daryl and Michonne close behind him. Even though Rick is his mate, and Daryl’s place is at his side, he lets his packmate slip between them, following close on her heels with his crossbow pointing toward the ceiling as he looks around. When she glances at him, he jerks his head slightly. She nods in understanding and slinks off to one side while he takes the other, checking everywhere they can think of to make absolutely sure they’re alone.

No one finds any surprises, just like he knew they wouldn’t, but it never hurts to check. Even he’s been taken by surprise a few times before, and if Rick wants to make absolutely certain that the church is secure, then he’ll comply with his alpha’s wishes. Being inside of the church is putting him on edge, though, making him grind his teeth, and he’s more than happy when they split up the work and he and Carol are sent to get water. That’s not to say he’s happy to be leaving Judith and Carl around a man he doesn’t trust, but he knows that Rick will kill Gabriel in a heartbeat if he thinks the man means any harm to his cubs.

“I get it, y’know,” he tells her while they’re hauling the filled jugs back to the church, taking the road because it’s open and clear. She glances at him, and he meets her eyes for a second before looking away. “You don’t wanna talk about it. I _get_ it. You okay, though?”

They look at each other, and she smiles slightly, rolling one shoulder in a small shrug. “Gotta be,” she replies. He frowns, because that’s not really an answer.

“We get to start over,” he presses, shaking his head and huffing. He’s not good at pep talks, he never has been, but he’s trying. “All of us with each other. You saved us, all by yourself.” Why can’t she understand what he’s trying to say?

“We got lucky,” the woman says simply, and he growls in frustration. “We should all be dead,” she adds, looking at him pointedly. They’re coming up on a car, and she seems to decide that that’s a good way to change the conversation. “I’ll check it,” she offers, nodding to it and pulling ahead a little. He falls in behind her, chewing on his lower lip. While she tries to start the car and fails, he stews in his thoughts until he can’t keep quiet anymore.

“Hey,” he rumbles as she’s opening the trunk, waiting until she looks at him and arches an eyebrow. “We ain’t dead. And whatever happened, happened. So let’s start over.”

“I want to,” she admits.

“Well, you can,” he insists, watching as she fiddles around in the trunk and suggests they leave the car for backup in case things go south back at the church, with Gabriel. He can’t argue with that, and he’s trying to think of any way he can to get rid of the scent of resignation and sorrow that’s clinging to his packmate. When he motions with one of the jugs, he ends up letting it go. It happens mostly by accident, but he still covers his face and tries to repress his embarrassment while Carol purses her lips and tries hard not to smile. He peers at her through his fingers, enjoying her fond amusement even if it’s at his own expense, and when she motions for him to go ahead of her, he grabs the jug and grumbles softly as he walks past her.

“Hey, what happened to your neck?” she asks as they keep going, making their way further up the road to see if they can find anything else they might be able to use. He looks back at her, wondering how she can even see the bite mark beneath his greasy hair and the collar of his shirt, not to mention his vest.

“Rick,” he replies simply, reaching out to nudge his alpha’s mind quickly, getting back satisfaction tinged with frustration until he curls contentedly against his mate’s strong awareness. The rumble that he gets in return sends a shiver through him, and he licks his lips.

Carol frowns. “Rick? What did he do?”

Daryl tries not to squirm, looking down. “He, uh, he bit me.” The wolf’s voice is barely audible as he mumbles the words, feeling his cheeks heat up as he ducks his head to avoid her searching gaze.

“He _bit_ you,” she repeats incredulously. “When the hell did he do that?”

“Oh my fucking god,” the archer growls, wanting to throw his hands up but unable to because of the water. He’s not going to risk dropping one of the jugs again. He settles for dropping his head forward and hunching his shoulders until they’re almost touching his ears. “Leave me be, woman.”

“Oh no, Pookie, not this time. What were you doing with Rick that involved him biting you? Please, share with the class. I’m dying to know.” She’s teasing him, probably already knows exactly what he doesn’t want to say. She just wants to hear it from him, because she’s an evil, evil woman, and he knows she’s not going to let up until he tells her what she wants to know.

“We had sex, okay? That what you wanted to hear? Fucking Christ, y’all are the nosiest fuckers I’ve ever met.” Damn Carol and her wily ways. As uncomfortable as he is, because he knows her—she’ll want _details_ —he’s kind of glad she’s the first one to find out. Or, well, the first one to actually be told, since Bob smelled it on him the second the black wolf found him the morning after he and Rick had bonded. Daryl had been almost asleep at the table, his cheek pressed against the cool wood and the scent of Rick still strong on his skin, his alpha’s seed still leaking out of him quite a bit, because Rick hadn’t lied. He’d made Daryl beg, took him again and again until the archer no longer had a voice other than desperate noises he’ll deny to anyone until the day he dies. Bob had been so fucking pleased, though, had squeezed his shoulder carefully, mindful of the bite even though it was already mostly healed by then, and offered his sincere congratulations. Daryl would have bitten him then if he hadn’t been so exhausted, and had had to settle for just grumbling and trying to use his hair to hide his bright red face.

He kind of wants to do that now, letting his bangs fall to hide his blush as Carol makes a satisfied sound and catches up with him, bumping their shoulders together.

“Guess Maggie wins the bet. Too bad. I was really hoping you’d have enough confidence to make the first move.” She nudges against him again, and he feels a faint, clumsy brush against his mind. He can’t help but smile at that, because he knows she’s trying to tell him she’s happy for him, that she thinks Rick’s a good match for him, so he wraps her up in a mental embrace, nuzzling her and rumbling happily. “Why the bite, though?”

“Claiming bite,” he says simply. “Instinctive thing. It lets others know I’m off limits, in case they decide to show interest.” Glancing at her, the wolf narrows his eyes. Even though he feels comfortable enough with Carol to tell her things he wouldn’t necessarily tell anyone else but Rick, he still values his privacy, and he’s had enough of talking about this subject for now. “You gonna keep asking questions, or are we gonna look for supplies?”

“All right, all right. I can take a hint.” She leans against him briefly, her mind fluttering against his own before she pulls away and gives him his space. “I’m happy for you, Pookie. Just let me know if I have to fillet him.”

“Jesus, knock it off already.”

 

 

 

It’s dark by the time they make it back to the car again. Daryl has slipped into the woods, trying to find any trace of the presence he’d felt the night before, the thing he’d heard moving around in the woods. When the archer has to finally admit defeat, frustrated and furious because he doesn’t like it that he can’t find even a scent to follow, he turns and heads back for the road to rejoin Carol.

He finds her getting the car ready, a walker dead a few feet from her and the blade of her knife slick and dark with its blood. She turns when he emerges from the trees, ready to kill until she sees it’s him. The scent of her guilt makes him frown, and he comes closer warily.

“What are you doing?”

She glances away, frustrated, before turning back toward him. “I don’t know,” she admits honestly.

He accepts that answer for now, jerking his head and turning away slightly. “C’mon,” he coaxes, knowing they need to rejoin the rest of the pack soon before they start to worry. She nods, starting to follow, and then he hears a car approaching and growls as he drops low, bringing up his crossbow and using the abandoned car for cover as Carol hurries to crouch beside him.

The car doesn’t even slow down, and as soon as Daryl sees the cross painted on the back of it, he flashes back to the funeral home he’d stayed in with Beth—laying in the coffin listening to her play the piano and sing; trying to coax the feral dog into accepting food and touch; screaming at Beth to run when the walkers found them. Running down the middle of the road, chasing the car that took her, the white cross burned into his retinas even after the vehicle was out of sight.

“What are you doing?” Carol shouts, not even trying to keep her voice down when he uses the butt of his crossbow to start breaking the tail lights.

“They got Beth,” he grunts, forgetting everything for the moment, forgetting the church and Gabriel as he urges Carol to get in the car and tries desperately to get it to start. “C’mon,” the wolf growls, his Wild blood burning through him, his eyes flashing, as he slams a palm against the steering wheel. “C’mon!”

“Daryl, breathe,” his packmate murmurs soothingly, reaching out to lay her hand on his shoulder. “Breaking this car won’t get us anywhere. Take a deep breath and try again. We’ll get her back.”

“What if she’s-” He can’t make himself finish his sentence, and Carol won’t let him.

“We’re going to find her, and we’re going to get her back. We’ll make them pay for ever trying to take her from us,” the woman promises, squeezing his shoulder. Rick’s a steady force in his mind, his alpha’s calming influence and worried nudges finally getting him to start breathing evenly, his grip on the steering wheel relaxing, his fingers flexing to ease the ache from clenching them so hard.

 _What’s wrong, darlin’?_ Rick croons. _What do you need?_

 _Gotta follow a lead on Beth, alpha_ , he replies, curling against his mate’s mind in a way that’s almost the same as when he presses his face beneath the man’s jaw to lick and nuzzle at his throat. He receives a nuzzle in return, and feels the phantom pressure of teeth closing gently around the claiming scar on the back of his neck, the action grounding him and clearing the last of his franticness from his mind. The wolf breathes in deeply, and lets it out easily as he turns the key in the ignition.

The car sputters once, twice, and then it roars to life, a little raspy from sitting for so long. He doesn’t care what the hell it sounds like, just cares that it started, and Carol’s relief is a tangible presence not only in the stifling interior of the car, but also in the piece of his heart she fits into, that little area that is just hers to claim. Every member of the pack has a part of his heart, although Rick holds the claim over his mind and soul; a large part of Daryl’s heart is also his as well, even if he can’t quite come out and say it. He’s too awkward, too clumsy with words, so he tries his best to show his alpha how he feels in other ways.

 _Love you too, darlin’. Be safe, and bring our packmate home_ , his mate whispers, the words rippling through him like warm water.

 _Gettin’ kinda mushy there, Grimes_ , he thinks, but he can’t stop the pleased little curl of his lips, or how his heart thumps a little faster, any more than he can stop his alpha from feeling all of the ways he affects the wolf.

“Letting Rick know we’ve got a lead?” Carol asks curiously. He glances over and sees her smiling, the nervousness bleeding from her scent to be replaced by honeysuckle and morning dew, her happiness and hope too infectious not to spread to the archer.

“Yeah. He says to be safe, an’ to bring Beth home.”

“We can manage that, I think.”

They tail the car all the way back to Atlanta before ditching their vehicle, sharing a surprised glance when they find themselves back in the ruins of the crumbling city. Is this where Beth is? Could their missing packmate really be somewhere in one of these buildings, nothing but walkers and people keeping them from her?

“Gonna have to hole up for the night,” he mutters angrily, creeping down an alleyway with Carol close behind him. She’s got her gun ready, just in case, but they both know that too much noise will just bring a herd down on them, and they can’t afford that right now.

“I know somewhere we can stay,” the woman murmurs, keeping her voice low. She hesitates for a moment, glancing at him and then looking away. Her thoughts are a riotous tumble through the faint static of their connection; something pained and bitter, like charred wood, overtaking her scent until he whines and presses their shoulders together. That seems to snap her out of it, and she offers him a weak smile. “C’mon, it’s not far.”

“Lead the way,” he offers, already falling back, but she scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“Oh no, Pookie. I’m not your alpha. We walk together, or we stand here and wait for the walkers to find us. C’mon, get up here.” She means what she says, staying right where she is until they’re shoulder-to-shoulder again. Then she starts walking, and he keeps close, his nostrils flaring as he scents the air and keeps his crossbow raised, the butt of the weapon digging into his shoulder slightly, the feeling as familiar and comforting to him from years of wielding a similar weapon. His old crossbow was lost before the prison fell, but he doesn’t really miss that one. Merle had given it to him out of the blue one day, shoving it into his arms and saying something about him needing to learn to hunt for his food the way humans did, rather than as just a wolf.

This crossbow means more to him than that one did, because Rick gave him this one, brought it home along with all of the guns he’d gone out with Michonne and Carl to get, wanting to give them a way to defend themselves against the Governor. Not that it did much good in the end. It’s part of the reason he’d attacked Joe when the man had tried to take it, because no one is going to take this weapon away from him.

When they reach the building, he makes Carol wait nearby while he jimmies the lock until he can shove it open; whistling the special call he’d picked up from the Claimers—the only good thing they ever did for him and his pack. She slinks out of the shadows and into the building, and he follows her closely, making sure to secure the door behind them.

“We’ll start lookin’ tomorrow,” he mutters as they sweep through the building, checking for walkers and dealing with them as needed. Carol seems sad, the scent of charred wood and hurt things getting stronger again, until they claim a room and lay side by side on the bed. He whines, turning onto his side and tucking his face against her shoulder.

“What you said before,” she murmurs against his hair, “about us getting to start over.” The wolf hums to show he’s listening, his eyes half-closed as he breathes in Carol’s scent, and the scent of the pack that still clings to her skin and clothes. “Did you?”

“I’m tryin’,” he admits, because he is. It’s not easy—it’s actually probably the hardest fucking thing he’s ever had to do. Carol understands that, though, and accepts his answer for the truth that it is. She pulls him into a hug, their minds touching briefly, and Daryl closes his eyes fully as he reaches out for Rick.

 _Love you, alpha,_ he murmurs shyly, because it’s true, and he might not be able to say it out loud, may never be able to, but like this, he feels like he can.

 _Dream sweet, darlin’,_ Rick whispers, his voice faint and strained by the distance between them. His love is still just as strong, and Daryl sighs quietly as he curls up against his mate’s mind, feeling the man settle over him the way he always does, grounding him the way no one else ever could.

He sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POLL TIME AGAIN
> 
> Just out of curiosity, what are your views on Daryl possibly getting pregnant? >.>
> 
> A: HELL YES DO IT
> 
> B: Ohgodno
> 
> C: Whatever works


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack loses another member, gains someone new, and learns of a place that could be their new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't fucking do it. I couldn't kill Bob. I just fucking could not do it, you guys. I love him too much. I mean, I love Tyreese, too, don't get me wrong. That man was a fucking beautiful soul. I hated the way he died, though, because I felt like they didn't pay proper homage to his character at the end. The hallucinations, yes, but not the final ending.
> 
> So I changed canon again. I'm not sorry about it.

Before the echoes of the gunshot can even fade, Daryl surges forward with a roar. Rick tries to grab him, tries to physically hold the archer back, but he will not be stopped. He doesn’t give one single goddamn fuck what these people try to do—if they shoot him, or if they run, or if the bitch that just _shot Beth in the fucking head, god no why_ looks horrified by what she’s done. That doesn’t excuse the fact that she did it, and Beth is **_dead_**. God, she was so brave in the end, stabbing that stupid cop and smelling like determination. His Wild had sung with joy to be reunited with the last of his pack, the cub he’d failed before. He’d sworn to himself that he would not fail her again.

And then the gun had gone off.

Rick has a hold of his crossbow, so Daryl ducks out from under the strap and slides his arms out of his vest, barely waiting for the surprised grunt knocked out of Rick as his mate stumbles back and Daryl lunges forward. He shifts, the Wild roaring for revenge; for blood to be spilt and the debt of the life taken to be paid in full. It’s a bellow he echoes, the sound tearing out of his throat as his pupils dilate until the gold is gone, swallowed by pain and rage. When he slams into the cop, he hears another shot and jerks back a little, burning pain radiating from his shoulder. He doesn’t focus on the hurt, though, can’t focus on anything as he forces the woman to the ground and opens his jaws wide, saliva and foam dripping. In front of his pack, in front of the other police officers, with Beth’s body crumpled to the ground behind him, Daryl ducks his head and rips out the bitch’s throat. Blood sprays out and splatters against his face, across the tiled floor; up the wall in a macabre arc beside them, and even onto the ceiling when he bites down and wrenches his head to the side, fragile tissue and cartilage giving way beneath the bite force of the wolf. He spits out his mouthful of blood and ruined muscle, and lifts his head to focus on the people firing down the hall.

_Make them pay._

These sons of bitches took his packmate, hurt her, and their leader killed her. Now they’re firing at his pack, firing at _Rick_ , and Beth is dead, and Daryl’s failed again. Maggie is expecting them to bring her sister back, expecting _him_ to bring her home. She’s outside waiting, tense and ready and probably hearing the fight, probably heard Daryl’s roar.

_Not now, Daryl. Not now. Don’t do this right now. C’mon, darlin’, shift back for me. We gotta go. I need you to focus. Can you do that for me?_

_No_ , he whines, because the last thing he wants to do is be human when he has to face Maggie and see the hatred on her face when she realizes that he’s a liar who can’t even protect a cub.

 _I need you to, darlin’. We gotta go, an’ you’re not gonna fit through the door like that._ Rick is coaxing him, wrapping his mind around Daryl’s and settling over him in the way the wolf needs, grounding him and giving him something to focus on. The cops that are still alive retreat, taking the few patients they’d brought along with them and leaving the dead behind. Dropping his head, he noses firmly at Beth’s cool shoulder and whimpers, barking and whining and nudging at her even harder, like she’s just sleeping and there’s not a hole in her head. Like she’ll wake up if he tries hard enough, and smile at him, smile at all of them.

 _Don’t think I can_ , he finally whispers, his ears flat against his skull. _Got shot. Probably not a good idea to shift with the bullet still in me._ When Noah comes forward to kneel beside Beth, reeking of terror and prey-scent, the wolf snarls and lowers his head until he’s standing over the dead cub, knowing what he looks like covered in blood, more feral than not, his eyes still black with hatred.

“Don’t,” Rick growls roughly, and the younger man is quick to back away, sclera completely visible around his irises as he gets away from the massive wolf as quickly as he can. His alpha kneels to pick up Beth instead, cradling her against his chest like she’s only sleeping.

Daryl whines and limps closer. _Put her on my back_.

“You can barely walk-”

_Put her on my fucking back, Rick. If anyone’s carrying her to Maggie, ‘s gonna fuckin’ be me. Just do it._

His alpha growls at his tone and Daryl growls right back, too lost in his grief and the lingering rage, his Wild soul howling for his dead packmate, to care about insubordination right now. Rick must understand that, must glean at least that much from the chaotic riot of the wolf’s thoughts, because he relents with a rough nod and gently lays Beth on his back, arranging her body so she’s draped down Daryl’s spine, her arms and legs hanging on either side of him, looking for all the world like she’s sleeping despite the reality of the situation.

They make it outside again, every step torture for him because of his injury and Beth’s slowly fading scent in his nose. The collective sorrow of the pack around him, including Noah, burns his nose, the pain Rick is feeling so intermingled with his own that it’s impossible to tell whose is whose. In the end, he has to wait for his mate to break a window that’s big enough for him to fit through, and he crawls over the broken sill with infinite care—not for himself, because he doesn’t give a fuck that his damaged body is screaming bloody murder at him. He just doesn’t want to drop Beth.

Maggie collapses as soon as she sees them, sees her little sister, her screams and her tears horrible to witness. Daryl lays down as well, much more carefully, and lets out a continuous stream of whines while Carol kneels by his head and tries to calm him, tries to get him to let her tend to his wound. Every time her slender fingers prod toward his shoulder, he knocks them away, distantly registering the scents of the rest of the pack around him. Glenn is holding Maggie, is wrapped around his mate and rocking her, crying just as hard as she is. They’re all crying, every single one of them. Even Abraham’s eyes are glassy, and he didn’t even know Beth. He recognizes their loss, though, and hurts for it, for them.

It's Bob who is finally able to take Beth from him, moving with exaggerated slowness so that Daryl sees every single twitch of muscle as the other wolf gathers the cub and takes her to her sister so that she can say goodbye. Rick crouches beside him and pets his head, trying to soothe him, but he refuses to be comforted.

 _Bob_ , he whimpers, and the medic is back. _Bob, we gotta. Gotta say goodbye. It’s what she deserves._

_I know, pack brother. I know. Will you let me tend to your shoulder first?_

_Fuck my shoulder,_ Daryl snarls. _She comes first._

The man nods, and strips out of his clothes quickly before he shifts. Daryl struggles to sit up, his wound even more noticeable to him now that he’s not driven by adrenaline. Bob helps him, lets him brace himself against the black wolf if he needs to. With the pack watching on, with Maggie’s red, tear-filled eyes fixed unblinkingly on them as she strokes her sister’s blonde hair, Daryl and Bob howl their loss to the heavens, their mingled sorrow a heartbreaking song. The universe listens to them, two wolves who sing of their suffering, of love so deep it cannot be named, all for one little cub with the strength of twenty wolves who did not deserve to die that way.

Rick tips his head back after a moment and howls along with them, his human vocal chords unable to quite match their cadence and depth, but his alpha doesn’t care, and neither does Daryl. Because one by one, the others are joining in, adding their voices until the very ground shakes from the force of their suffering. Maggie’s howl is the most heart-wrenching, Carol’s the softest, but none of them feel any less than any of the others, their minds all joining together in a way that reflects their mingled pack-scent, every single one of them sliding together on a mental wavelength Daryl never knew was possible until now.

Their song slowly dies away, and one by one they withdraw from their mental joining until they’re all mostly themselves again, rather than one big melded presence. Daryl reaches out, his mind fluttering against the fringes of Maggie’s sorrow-soaked thoughts, and is surprised when she clings to him tightly, when she doesn’t blame him, but rather nuzzles her teary gratefulness against his thoughts.

 _You brought her back,_ she whispers, soothing his broken whine with gentle touches even though he should be the one comforting her. _Hey, hey, it’s okay._

_It ain’t fuckin’ okay._

_No, it isn’t, but not for the reason you think._ She doesn’t wrap herself around him like Rick does, must know subconsciously that that’s not her right. She does curl against him, though, the two of them a tangle of metaphysical limbs. She feels more like a wolf this way, bathing his head gently with her tongue, washing away his self-deprecation and his feelings of failure and worthlessness. _You tried, Daryl, and you avenged her when it happened. I’d rather her have died this way, quickly, than the alternative._

Drawing back into himself after one last nuzzle, the wolf finally hangs his head and lets Bob nuzzle at his injured shoulder, licking the blood away as gently as he can while the pale wolf curls his lips back but makes no sound. He deserves this pain.

Looking around at the group, he whines when he sees that Tyreese isn’t among them. He’d almost forgotten that Beth isn’t the only loss they’ve suffered, that the gentle giant of a black man had been bitten while raiding the food pantry—had been taken by those Terminus fucks that had managed to survive. They’d eaten his _leg_ , those fucking psychopaths, right in front of him, and then they’d dragged him back to the rest of the group as some kind of fucking warning. He’d been gone with Carol at the time, searching all of Atlanta for clues to where they could find Beth, but he’d come back—minus Carol, who’d been hit by a car and taken by the same people, but with the addition of Noah, who'd sworn to help get their packmates back however he could—in time to say his goodbyes. Tyreese had smiled and gripped his forearm, his eyes bright with the fever but still clear, still lucid.

_Nightmares have to end sometime, Daryl. I think I’m ready to wake up from this one now._

Regal until the end, right up until his last breath. Sasha hadn’t been able to kill him, not her own blood, so Bob had done it for her, had comforted her afterwards with quiet, gentle touches and words as she’d shaken and tried not to sob.

 _How you holding up?_ he asks her, dipping his head and whining quietly, flinching at another pass of Bob’s gentle tongue over the bullet wound. Sasha looks so far from all right, gripping her sniper rifle and just breathing.

 _How d’you think?_ she retorts, but she nudges against his mind, trying to gentle the sting of her words. _I keep waking up and expecting him to be there. He’s **always** been there._

He can do nothing but try and offer her what little comfort she’ll accept, looking over to Rick and wincing when he realizes some of Beth’s blood is on his alpha’s neck. He doesn’t seem to notice, or care, too busy holding Judith and taking comfort from his cub’s sweet coos.

 _You have got to be the toughest motherfucker I’ve ever met, Daryl Dixon,_ Bob finally announces. He shifts and dresses quickly before he’s back and prodding at the wound with gentle fingers. “The bullet is still in there, but you’re already healing around it. Think you can stand for me digging around to get it out? Should have something we can use in that fire truck.”

_Do what you gotta, just get it the fuck out._

“Works for me.” Bob’s gone and back in a flash, a pair of long tweezers held in a sure grip. “You gonna want to bite something? This isn’t going to feel nice.”

 _Neither did my Daddy’s belt. Quit pussyfooting around and get on with it._ He butts his forehead against the medic’s, minding his strength, and turns to look at Rick and his baby girl. When the tweezers slide in, he can’t bite back his whine. His alpha looks at him, and then he’s coming over and letting the wolf nuzzle and mouth at his shirt, Judith’s giggles going a long way toward soothing him as the cub bats at his ears and wiggles in her father’s arms.

It still fucking hurts. He almost imagines he can feel the tweezers scraping along inside of him, digging deep into the meat of his shoulder until they find the bullet and drag it out. More blood oozes from the wound, but Bob makes a triumphant sound and emerges victorious, holding the disfigured lump of metal up proudly before he turns and hurls it back toward the hospital.

 _Drama queen_ , Daryl huffs, but he nuzzles the medic in thanks and sighs. _Think I can shift now? Gonna need some pants, if I can._

“You should be good. It’s gonna hurt worse than it usually does, though. I’ll find you something to wear.” The man heads for the fire truck, where he can see Eugene hovering and sweating. A noise from Rick draws his attention back to his mate, and he looks up at him.

“Could’a been fuckin’ killed, Daryl,” his alpha growls. He flattens his ears and whines, rolling his head to show his tender throat and wagging his tail submissively as he leans in and licks the blood from the man’s throat, cleaning it away with one swipe of his tongue before nuzzling beneath his alpha’s chin and jaw, his beard scratching against the wolf’s sensitive nose and making him tremble.

_Wasn’t, though. Had to make them pay, alpha. Had to avenge Beth. Couldn’t let that bitch live._

“I know. God, Daryl, your loyalty is one of your best qualities, but you gotta stop doing shit without thinking about the consequences. What if you had died, too?”

_I’m not apologizing, and I didn’t die. That’s all there is to it._

_Gonna make you regret your attitude later, mate,_ Rick rumbles across their connection, and Daryl’s muscles and fur twitch as he shivers. Heat blooms in his belly, makes him want to roll over and expose his soft underside, but then Bob is back with a pair of pants, so he shoves his desire away for the moment and shifts so he can get dressed. He accepts his vest and his crossbow, figuring he’ll just get a shirt later. They have other things they have to figure out right now. Before he gets around to covering his torso with what he has, Bob stops him and binds his shoulder quickly.

“Should hold you for now. Don’t need to worry about infection, I already know that. Might scar, but it’ll heal. Probably before tomorrow, knowing you.”

“Hnn.” Carefully shrugging his vest on, he slings his crossbow over his back, the strap digging into his uninjured shoulder. He nods his thanks, glancing quickly at Rick, before he pads over to Maggie and crouches down; reaches out to brush a strand of Beth’s hair away from her cold cheek. “We’ll bury her as soon as we find a nice spot,” he whispers roughly, his sorrow strangling him to the point he almost can’t get the words out. “Somewhere quiet, with flowers, maybe. Somewhere she can rest peacefully.”

“Thank you, Daryl,” Maggie murmurs, leaning forward to rest her head on his shoulder briefly. He meets Glenn’s eyes and nods, receiving one in return.

“Got one thing to ask first, though,” the wolf adds after he nuzzles his packmate’s hair, breathing the words quietly and looking away when she blinks at him.

“What is it?”

“Can I have her shoelaces?”

“Her shoelaces?” Glenn looks puzzled, but Maggie’s eyes are filling with tears again. She nods, understanding his request without him needing to even explain himself.

“Of course you can, Daryl. Thank you.”

 _Ain’t no reason to thank me_ , he mutters, nuzzling against her mind before he stands and walks away again, walks back to Rick and joins his mate; listens in to his conversation with Abraham but contributes nothing as they agree to go back to the church for the bus. His alpha’s mind isn’t on Washington D.C, though. He’s thinking of somewhere else, and Daryl glances toward Noah. The kid is sitting a little way away from the rest of them, legs bent at the knees and his arms propped on them as he stares at the ground. He smells like scorched earth and burned acorns, and he looks so young.

 _We taking him home?_ he asks, glancing at his alpha and meeting the man’s eyes briefly before glancing down at Judith. He just wants to hold her, to curl around her and breathe her in, but he knows she’ll only aggravate his shoulder, so he settles for nuzzling against her temple and crooning softly when she babbles and grips his bangs a little too tightly.

_Gotta try, don’t we? He helped Beth, helped her as much as he could. It’s not his fault, what happened. Least we could do is see if his family’s still alive._

Accepting that, the wolf nods and closes his eyes, turning his face into Rick’s shoulder and shuddering at the scent of musk and rut that tickles his nose faintly. He wants his alpha inside of him, wants to feel that closeness that he can only achieve with his mate, but now is not the time.

Soon, though. He’ll have Rick in him again soon.

 

 

 

After they bury Beth, laying her to rest beneath a beautiful Southern magnolia tree that’s still in full bloom, Carl comes to him. It’s becoming a habit for the teenager to seek him out after things like this, it would seem. He finds Daryl tying Beth’s shoelaces around his lower legs, binding them tightly enough that they won’t slip, but not so tightly that they’ll cut off his circulation or impede his movements.

“Hey,” the cub whispers, sitting beside him heavily in the very back of the fire engine and leaning against his good shoulder. He’s playing with the sheriff hat his father gave him so long ago, turning it in his fingers and feeling around the wide brim. “You okay?”

“Am I supposed to be?” he asks, propping his chin on his raised knee and frowning in concentration as he adjusts the laces wrapped around his right calf a little until he’s satisfied.

“No,” Carl admits softly. “I’m not. None of us are. We will be, though. We have to be. For her.”

“Yeah,” the wolf rasps, letting his boot thump against the floor of the truck and leaning back with a sigh that’s too far into exhaustion. “’M just tired of losin’ people.”

“Me too.”

They lean against one another, taking comfort from contact and brushing their minds together. Carl’s thoughts are dark and sad, reminding him of rainy swamps and quicksand. He nuzzles the cub’s dark hair and croons.

“Why’d you take her shoelaces?” There’s nothing derisive about the question. It’s honest curiosity, and a tinge of gratefulness, because Carl wants a way to remember her, too—the pretty, sweet young Southern belle who’d had his interest even if she’ll never get to have his heart now.

“To remember,” he admits, looking down at the two different colored lines wrapped messily around his legs, dirty but still bright against the darker material of his jeans. “Don’t wanna forget her, don’t want to forget what she meant, or what she did.” He never would, because he remembers everyone they’ve lost, remembers the good and the bad alike. More than that, though, he remembers the life Beth brought back to him, giving him a reason to keep fighting, to _hope_ , after it looked like there was nothing left to hope and fight for. He wants to remember the look on her face the first time she’d held Judith, the first time she’d fed their baby girl and the first time she heard the cub giggle. “Wanna remember all of it.”

“Will you remind me, if it seems like I’m forgetting?” Carl is so serious, his blue eyes—so like his father’s, and yet not—catching Daryl’s and holding them, imploring, _begging_. “If it seems like any of us are forgetting, will you remind us?”

The wolf nods, reaching out to run his fingers through the cub’s long hair, pulling him in so that Carl can curl up against his good shoulder and cry quietly, his tears sinking into the bare skin beneath Daryl’s vest when they run off the leather.

“I will,” he vows, looking at Rick while his alpha looks at them, tangling their thoughts together until it’s impossible to distinguish between them, no longer _Daryl_ and _Rick_ , but _mates_. He leans heavily against the man’s mind, knowing he’ll be supported while he’s supporting Carl, and accepts everything Rick gives him, the love and the sorrow and the worry, looping his own emotions back until their franticness eases into something gentler, something closer to relaxation, and the scent of lavender and cinnamon fills his nose as he looks out through the windshield of the fire truck and watches the church grow closer and closer.

 

 

 

Abraham is clearly not happy about Rick’s decision to go to Virginia, pacing and shouting and trying to bully the alpha into agreeing with his bigger size. Rick just watches him, unimpressed and unable to be swayed, until the soldier runs out of words and realizes that this is the way it’s going to be.

“It’s not like we won’t see you again,” he points out, which is a fair argument, because Tara and Maggie and Glenn have decided to follow Eugene to D.C, too hopeful at the thought of ending things, and wanting to be there to witness the end of the apocalypse and the birth of a new world, a world no longer plagued by walkers but too broken to be what it was. They want to fix it, want to make it theirs, and Daryl admires them for that even though he knows that’s not what’s going to happen.

While they’re gearing up to leave, he follows his nose to Eugene and traps the man in the back of the bus, growling softly and watching the way his face goes white. He’s terrified, shaking and sweating. The only reason he’s made it this far is because he found people who would do anything to protect him for the lie he’s made them believe is a truth.

“When they find out,” the archer growls, getting up in the man’s face and baring his teeth, letting the gold bleed into his eyes as his Wild soul rumbles. “And they will, believe me. They will. When they _do_ , you’re gonna accept whatever beating you deserve. You’re gonna take it, and you’re gonna be damn grateful if they don’t kill you. Because trust me, if you survive, and any of ‘em die before we meet up again, walkers are gonna be the least of your worries when I find you.”

Eugene nods tightly, chin trembling, and Daryl walks away. If he doesn’t walk away, he’s going to beat the fuck out of the coward himself, and he won’t do that. The man made his choice, and now he has to live with it.

 

 

 

The truth comes out, and Daryl wants to beat the fuck out of Eugene anyway, even though Abraham’s done a pretty good job of that himself, from the looks of it. They’re reunited, a pack again; stronger because Abraham has deferred to Rick’s leadership, falling in behind him with the same respect that Michonne shows to the man. The others follow suit, even Eugene, who is meek and quiet as he slouches along at the back of the pack, never asking for anything and accepting the disdain of the others, because he has no one to blame but himself.

Time passes, and the feral light gets brighter in their eyes. Rick’s more Wild than not, now, determined and driven to find them a home they can call their own. Daryl understands, because he feels the same way, sinking even more deeply into his Wild blood than he ever has without shifting, letting it course through him and drive his actions as he paces around the perimeter of the pack and looks for anything he can find. Every scrape and pull of his pants where they’re tight against his legs, held there by Beth’s laces to remind him, winds him tighter and tighter, until he finally can’t take it anymore and he has to get away for a little bit.

That’s how he finds the barn, sitting against a tree and pressing the burning end of his cigarette into the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger, using the pain as a catalyst to let out the hurt—to lance the wound and work out the poison over Beth’s death and Noah’s loss of hope when he’d realized that his family was dead and gone, his brother a mindless walker that had tried to kill him before Daryl had killed it first. He sobs harshly, his chest and throat hurting from the force of his sorrow, and the sky rumbles in response, dark clouds rolling in and promising to pour rain down on them all as it grieves along with the Wild soul.

After he finds the others, sees the water and the note they’ve found, the skies open up and the torrent is unleashed, drenching them in seconds.

“There’s a barn!” he shouts, barely heard over the downpour.

“Show us!” Rick shouts back, and he leads the pack to the structure, helping them sweep and secure it while the storm rages on outside. They settle in for the night, building a tiny fire after clearing a spot for it, and his demoralized and exhausted pack falls into deep, uneasy slumber full of nightmares that make them twitch and cry out while he paces in front of the doors and listens to the forest being destroyed, the walkers coming closer.

His alpha joins him in the middle of the night, looking out through the cracks with him and curling heavily over his mind. They secure the door better without exchanging a word, working with the ease they always have to keep the walkers out and keep their family safe. Once they’re sure nothing is getting through the doors that they don’t let in first, he follows his alpha into a stall and falls into Rick as the man reaches for him.

There is no slow, easy prep this time. Rick stretches him quickly while Daryl bites into his alpha’s shirt, whining and shoving down onto the fingers pushing into him. He’s too frantic, needing this too much, and he barely lets his mate slick his cock with the lube they’d taken from the house after Terminus, the night they’d bonded. His alpha wants him on his hands and knees, but Daryl refuses, straddling the human’s thighs and sliding down on his cock with a choked-off whine. He rides Rick roughly, feeling too hot, Rick’s cock at the perfect angle to grind against his prostate. Since he can’t get to the bite scar, his mate sinks his teeth into his uninjured shoulder instead, nosing his vest out of the way because they’re not even fully undressed. Blood wells up when he bites down, and Daryl comes between them, pressing his face into his alpha’s throat as his hips buck and roll frantically.

Rick comes silently, ripping his mouth from the archer’s skin and baring bloody teeth, his eyes glowing blue with a thin ring of gold around his dilated pupils. Daryl’s eyes are all gold, his vision sharpened and his world narrowed down to nothing but his mate’s face as he’s filled until it’s dripping out of him, shaking and whining, and then they’re clinging to each other, and Rick is breathing harshly, hitching sobs smothered by Daryl’s vest as he clings to his alpha and nuzzles his tangled curls, crooning soothingly.

 _We’re gonna figure it out, alpha,_ he promises, grooming his mate with gentle licks and not even caring about the dirt and grime that’s gritty against his tongue. _We’re gonna find a place, and we’ll be safe there. We’ll keep them all safe._

They pull apart, and he shudders as he feels his alpha’s seed against his skin; can’t help himself as he reaches back and gathers it up, pushing it back inside and clenching down on his own fingers with a quiet whine.

Rick pets him gently, licking his shoulder clean of the blood his alpha has drawn. “We will,” he agrees, his eyes back to normal and the Wild in him calmer than it’s been since Beth and Atlanta. “We’ll do everything it takes, no matter what.”

No one was woken up by their frantic coupling, for which he is grateful. Still, someone needs to take watch, so he wakes Bob with a nudge and a quiet rumble, bumping their foreheads while his packmate nuzzles him, still more asleep than not. Sasha remains sleeping beside the medic, her expression tight as she dreams badly.

 _Oh, hey, you’re starting to smell like you’re going into heat again,_ the black wolf comments groggily as he blinks the last of his slumber from his eyes and looks at Daryl with growing clarity. The archer cocks his head to the side and sniffs, and realizes that his packmate is right. It’s faint, but he can smell the pheromones.

Fuck.

 _That’s gonna be a problem_ , he thinks, and Bob chuckles.

 _Only for those of us who are gonna have to hear you and Rick fucking like bunnies,_ the man teases as he picks up his gun and heads for the doors. Daryl trails after him, his mind running in overdrive.

 _Shut up, don’t even joke. What the hell is going to happen, if we do have sex while I’m in heat?_ Because he hadn’t thought about that before, not really—not past the haze of _ohgodfuckme_ he’d been living in the last time. How long ago was that, anyway? How often is this going to happen to him, now that he and Rick are mates?

_Hell if I know. Animals go into heat or rut for one purpose: To reproduce. Considering that you’re a submissive wolf, and a man, I don’t know what’s going to happen. Can’t pretend I’ve got the first idea, considering I’ve never run into a male omega before you. Never really ran into a lot of other wolves, but the few I did were either betas or alphas. I’m just as in the dark as you are._

Oh god. Oh fucking Christ. _You tellin’ me I might-_ He can’t bring himself to finish that sentence. He doesn’t even want to finish that thought, because that’s just insane. That’s so far into the realm of insanity that he can’t even comprehend it. He won’t.

 _I don’t know, Daryl._ Bob curls against his panicked mind with a soothing rumble, smelling like mint leaves and rich chocolate. _Would it be so bad, if it did? There are hermaphroditic wolves, you know. They can sire cubs, or carry litters. There’s nothing wrong with them, it’s just who they are. It’s how they were made, and they’re never shunned by their pack for it._

 _Fuck you. Ain’t no hermaphrodite,_ he bites out aggressively, defaulting to abrasiveness like he always used to when he was faced with a situation he didn’t know how to handle. Bob doesn’t judge him, doesn’t get mad and shove him away. He just radiates calm and understanding, crooning gently until the archer’s pulse slows and his breathing evens out.

_Maybe not, but you’re something special, Daryl. Just promise me one thing?_

_The fuck you want?_

_Name a cub after me?_

Daryl shoves him, huffing when the medic chuckles. He can’t find it in himself to react the way he’d used to, to throw Bob against the door and beat him until he cries for mercy or blacks out from pain. Instead, he nuzzles his packmate uncertainly, whining softly, and goes to curl up beside Rick. His alpha is already asleep, reaching out unconsciously to soothe the archer's distress. He relaxes against his mate, his head pressed between strong shoulders as he worries his lower lip with his teeth. When his eyes fall on the little jewelry box Maggie had found, he already knows he’s not going to be sleeping well, so he pulls it over and gets to fixing it for the woman, knowing it will do them all good to hear whatever sweet little melody the figure inside will twirl to.

 

 

 

Maggie and Sasha leave in the morning, and they come back smelling like tension. Daryl smells a man standing just outside, growling as he surges to his feet. Everyone reacts the same way when the human steps in behind their packmates, weapons raised and eyes hard. No one trusts him, none of them have it in them to trust anyone but each other anymore, so he’s treated with the same coldness by all of them as he tries to explain himself.

“You been followin’ us,” Daryl growls, looking the man up and down and baring his teeth. He smells wolf on him, but not in him. There’s no Wild in his blood, but he knows someone who is. “How long?”

“I just needed to see what kind of people you were,” he promises, holding his hands up and trying to project calmness despite the tinge of fear in his scent. He’s worried, but more hopeful than afraid as he looks at all of them. He tries to explain his purpose, that he’s part of a place where they can all be safe. Daryl perks up at that, whining softly at the thought of getting his pack behind real, physical walls like the one the man—Aaron—is describing. Judith will be safe, _all_ of them will be safe.

Rick’s sudden attack takes the others by surprise, but Daryl understands his alpha’s need to assert his rank to the other man, to let him know where he stands in his mate’s regards. The conversation that follows is tense, the pack split pretty evenly as they try to decide the best course of action.

_We should go, alpha. Make sure it’s safe, and go. They need it. **You** need it._

Rick looks at him, catching his eyes and waiting for Daryl to bare his throat. _What about you?_

 _I go where you go, alpha. Always._ Because even though the walls sound perfect for his family, they don’t sound good for Daryl. He’s Wild, he needs to run and be free, and those walls sound like a cage to him, sound even worse than the prison, because even though the fences there were high, he could still see through them. This place doesn’t sound like that. In the end, though, if his pack wants to go there, if it will keep them safe, then the wolf will follow.

Rick nods, accepting his words for what they are, understanding Daryl’s feelings on the matter and knowing that the safety of the pack is what matters most to the archer. He rumbles soothingly to him, makes promises to help him cope if he needs him to, and sends them out to scout for any others, because Aaron says there’s one more person out there, and he’s telling the truth. They can’t find him, though, can’t find the man whose scent Aaron carries the way Daryl carries Rick’s, but the man was telling the truth about everything else—the cleared highway, the RV that reminds him of Dale’s, the other car.

In the end, the decision is easy. Rick takes the car with Aaron, Michonne and Glenn, and Daryl climbs into the RV with the others. And when things go to shit, when walkers swarm them and they find Aaron’s mate, after the man breaks his ankle fighting to keep them safe even though he doesn’t know who they are, or what they intend to do once they reach the community and safety they’ve been promised, Daryl watches Bob splint his injury and stands guard until his alpha arrives, moving to meet the man and accepting the bruising kiss he already knows is coming while Aaron vanishes inside the building they’re holed up in to check on Eric.

No one says a damn thing, all of them smelling strongly of acceptance and love as Rick pulls him close and Daryl melts against his mate’s strong body, gripping him tightly and angling his head for a deeper kiss until Aaron’s surprised exclamation finally makes them pull apart.

“All of you,” the man whispers fervently, his eyes wet and his voice trembling. “ _Thank you_ , for saving him. When we get home, when we get to Alexandria, you will all be rewarded.”

Alexandria. Daryl turns the name over in his mind, chewing on it thoughtfully, and decides that it sounds pretty nice. It sounds like safety.

It sounds like a place his pack can make their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poll is still open regarding possible Daryl-and-Rick offspring. I just want to make a quick note that I've seen hermaphroditic wolves before. There's a wolf sanctuary near me, and they have a wolf there who sired cubs as well as carrying and birthing a litter or two. So if we're All Aboard the MPreg Train, it's probably gonna go down some way like that.
> 
> Keep in mind that Daryl doesn't even know half of what he should about the Wild blood in him, and he's already gone through one heat, which Bob mentioned he'd never really seen in other male wolves before, and made reference to Daryl being a submissive wolf. If it's not your kink, it's not your kink, and I understand that. Just cast your votes, and at the end I'll tally them up and we'll see what option wins.
> 
> So yeah. Vote A for 'fuck yes', B for 'fuck no', and C for 'whatever works'. Now excuse me while I go curl up in a ball of misery and sob, because I just had to write Beth dying. I need a fucking minute.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack settles in at Alexandria, and Daryl goes into heat again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. Mpreg is gonna happen, you guys. I swear, I will try to make it as realistic-seeming as I possibly can.
> 
> PORN AHEAD.
> 
> Also, please don't kill me. I'll fix it, I swear.

Daryl paces around the room they’ve put him in, unable to look at Deanna as she asks him question after question. He’s not sure what the hell she wants him to say, so he mutters what he thinks she needs to hear; what he thinks will be the best responses to ensure his pack’s safety.

“You’re welcome to sit,” she offers while he’s messing with a bowl full of decorative rocks. Who the hell uses a bowl of _rocks_ as decorations? What kind of people are these Alexandrians? “I won’t bite,” she adds, and he glances at her sharply, grips the tail of the opossum he’d shot just outside the gates a little tighter. Someone had tried to take it from him, and he’d reacted so violently, jerking away and snarling, that they’ve left him be. Except this woman, who holds the fate of his family in her clean, manicured hands.

“Nah, I’m alright,” he mutters as he paces away and looks at the bookshelf, his eyes flicking over all of the different titles.

“Do you want to be here, Daryl?” Deanna asks. He bites down his instinctive _no_ , already able to feel his skin crawling, the Wild making him pace and want to snarl and snap at any of these strangers who try to get too close. What he wants doesn’t matter here. It’s not about what he wants. It’s about what his pack needs.

“The boy and the baby,” he rumbles, finally looking at her again and tilting his head slightly, letting his greasy, shaggy bangs fall to mostly cover his eyes, because they’re flipping between blue and gold too much, his vision warping until his temples throb and his throat burns from the effort of holding back his whines. “They deserve a roof. They deserve walls and a place to be safe.”

The woman takes that for the answer it is— _I don’t want to be here, but they do, so I’m here because they are._ She asks him a few more things, smelling of parchment and ink, smiling kindly at him like that will be enough to ease his tension and flatten his hackles. As soon as they’re done, she shows him the door and he gets the fuck out. He breathes in deeply as soon as he’s out on the sidewalk, but that’s not far enough away from the building, so he moves to the center of the street. There are no cars inside of the Alexandria safe-zone anyway, so it’s not like he has to worry about being hit. He can hear kids laughing somewhere—the same kids who were laughing and playing when they pulled up to the gate, the very reason Rick has decided to give this place a chance.

“How’d it go?” his alpha asks when Daryl tracks him down to the houses they’ve been given, and the wolf stops dead in his tracks when he sees his mate, blinking hard and looking the human up and down before his nostrils flare and he ducks his head to hide his eyes again.

Rick took a shower, and he shaved. He looks so much younger, so much cleaner. So much less Wild. He’s let someone cut his hair, too. A woman—unhappily married, with two cubs. He can smell her on his alpha, can smell where she touched when she held his head. Rick looks so much calmer, feels more relaxed than he has in too long when Daryl tentatively curls against his mind. His alpha welcomes him just as eagerly as always, settling over him and leaving him feeling grounded. When he feels him trying to probe deeper, trying to flush out the reason for the wolf’s sudden tension, he butts at Rick’s mental presence a little more forcefully than he means to and sits on the top step as the man watches him, his eyes burning, and bounces Judith.

Carl comes out onto the porch while he’s gutting the opossum. He can feel his mate’s thoughts whirling against his own as Rick growls softly, clearly not pleased at being rebuffed for trying to figure out what was wrong and soothe it.

 _Are you that unhappy to be here?_ he asks gently. Daryl whines and finally glances up at him, his eyes golden.

_Just gonna take a while to get used to it. These people…_

Carl hops off the porch to go and check out the other house. Carol follows after a moment, running her fingers through his hair on her way down the steps. He tilts into the contact, drawing comfort from her. He can hear the rest of the pack inside of the house, can hear them investigating everything and making various comments over things they find.

“They’re soft,” Rick finishes for him, once they’re alone but for Judith. He’d take the baby, but he’s covered in blood, already ripping pieces of meat from the ribs and chewing on them without caring what it looks like. His mate says nothing, just nuzzles his mind fondly. “They’ve had it easy here. Maybe too easy. They’re not prepared for what the world is like, beyond the walls.”

“They ain’t prepared for us, either,” Daryl mutters, looking down into the belly of the opossum and bringing his knife up again to carve out a piece of the liver. He can feel his bones aching a little already, and knows that in a few days’ time he’s going to have a problem when his heat reaches its height. Stuffing the bloody piece of organ into his mouth, he sucks his fingers clean and shivers at the heat in his alpha’s eyes. “Want some?” He holds up another piece of liver, red dripping between his fingers, and shudders out a whine when Rick bends to take the meat directly from Daryl with his teeth, closing them around the tips of the archer’s fingers before he’s standing back and chewing with a contemplative look on his face.

“Never had raw meat before,” he muses, licking the last of the blood from his lips before turning to hand Judith over to Sasha when the woman comes out to take her, saying something about giving her a bottle and letting ‘the leaders’ explore. Daryl’s head snaps up, not at all liking being lumped in as a leader when he’s anything but. She’s smiling at him, or at least trying her best to. Her brother’s death still weighs heavily on her mind, but Bob is helping her a lot. He’s glad for that.

“I’ve got this,” she says, patting Judith’s back and cooing at the cub when she giggles. “Bob’s got that,” she adds, eyeing Daryl’s kill. He nods and stands, wiping his knife on his shirt to clean it before following his mate off the porch and around to the wide, well-maintained lane between the two mansion-like dwellings. God, how could anyone live in such a large place? How can they think such a huge house will be too much space for people who are so used to much tighter quarters? What are they even going to do with the second house, if they decide not to take it? Do they just give it back, say ‘thanks, but no thanks’?

Daryl’s so lost in his thoughts, trailing after Rick, that he’s taken by surprise when his alpha pushes him against the back wall of the house so hard that his shoulders smart and the thump echoes. His noise of confusion and hurt turns to a needy moan when a hot mouth claims his own. He hurriedly opens his own mouth to reciprocate, fisting his hands in the back of his mate’s clean shirt and arching away from the siding, spreading his legs for Rick to settle between them and urging him closer still.

“Got all the time in the world for everything I wanna do to you now,” the man rumbles, pulling back with a wet sound and leaving the archer panting and dazed, already rolling their hips together because he _needs_ his mate, needs more. That quick fuck in the barn stall wasn’t anywhere near satisfying enough for him, and with his heat coming on, knowing that Rick will actually _be there_ this time, he’s voracious for anything he can get.

“ _Please_ , alpha,” he gasps, and he has to bite his lip when Rick reaches between them to knead at his cock, trapped beneath his pants. Another frantic whimper escapes him, his head falling back to bare his throat to his alpha. Rick bites his Adam’s apple briefly, caging it with his teeth before pulling back to look at him properly.

“As soon as we can, darlin’. I promise. Got a few things we gotta take care of first, though, don’t we? Gotta have ourselves a chat, too, you ‘n’ me.”

“No, no, talk later,” Daryl rumbles, leaning forward for a kiss and whining when he’s denied, when Rick puts space between them and presses a hand against his shoulder to hold him back. The gunshot wound is healed, not even a lingering ache left, so he pushes against the unmovable force that is Rick Grimes and is frustrated but unsurprised when he gets nowhere.

“I think we need to talk now. You wanna tell me what that was, back there? You shuttin’ me out like that?”

Taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down, the archer thumps his head back against the siding and rubs a hand roughly over his dirty face, then back through his long, wild hair. His fingers snag in tangles, but he doesn’t care. “Ain’t nothin’ important,” he grumbles. “’S stupid.”

“I think it’s really important, darlin’, if you slam the door in my face like that while I’m tryin’ to make sure you’re okay. Don’t lie to me, Daryl. You won’t like what happens.”

Whining, he drops his head and rolls his chin against his collarbone, looking away submissively and offering his alpha the long line of his throat. “Came to find you, t’ make sure you was okay, an’ I seen you like this. Could smell that woman on you. Still can.”

“Jesse?” Rick frowns and tilts his chin up to press a kiss against his swollen lips. Daryl whines low in the back of his throat, nodding subtly. “She was just bein’ friendly, darlin’. Ain’t nothin’ she has that I want.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” He doesn’t want Rick to think he questions his loyalty, but, well, Jesse is a woman, and she’s probably pretty. He’s scarred, and a wolf, and a _guy_. Even if wolves mate for life, Rick’s not a wolf. He has some of the Wild in him now, because of their bond, but he’s still completely human. He’s not bound by the same instincts Daryl is.

“I’m absolutely certain of it.” Another kiss is pressed to his mouth, his alpha’s tongue curling in to play with his, and then they have to pull apart, because they can hear Carol leaving the second house and he knows Rick wants to talk to her and see what she thinks. They pull apart and compose themselves, and as they’re walking back toward the street, side-by-side and almost in-sync, his alpha settles over his mind and he doesn’t chase him away this time.

_It’s you, Daryl. Just you._

_Always yours, alpha. Just remember that, next time you see her. Okay?_

_Never gonna forget it._

“They’re right next to each other,” Carol says as she approaches them, “but…” She looks uncertain, smells like it too, and he glances at his alpha when she does, deferring to him and seeking his opinion.

“Yeah,” Rick rumbles, shaking his head and fingering at his belt unconsciously. “They took our weapons, and now they’re splitting us up.”

Daryl agrees with a rough, low, “Yeah,” that his mate echoes. He already knows what they’re going to do, so he’s not at all surprised by what his alpha says next.

“We’ll all be staying in the same house tonight.”

Carol agrees readily, smelling relieved, and Daryl shifts to bump their shoulders together. They watch Rick as he heads inside to tell the others, and then he feels his packmate’s mind touch his own lightly as she looks at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, turning at the sound of Carl coming out of the spare house. The teenager spots them and grins, hopping over the banister rather than taking the stairs down. “Better watch yourself, ‘fore you break somethin’,” he grunts at the cub as he lopes up to them, blue eyes shining with excitement, the smell of it strong on him. “What’s got you so pumped?”

“I found this unfinished room upstairs,” the boy explains, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder toward the house he’s just come from. “It’s really big, and it looks pretty spacious. I bet your wolf would fit in it just fine. You could use it as a cave or somethin’, if you wanted to. We could black out the windows and everything. Wanna see it?”

Blinking, he stares at his mate’s son, lost for words and so blindsided by Carl’s thoughtfulness that he doesn’t know what to say for a moment. He glances up at the house again, looming high over them and making him feel small in comparison. “We’re all sleepin’ in the same house,” he finally mutters, swallowing thickly and reaching out to grab the adolescent by his shoulder and haul him in against his chest. Carl doesn’t seem to care that he hasn’t showered yet, fitting against him easily and smelling like honeydew and watermelon, at ease in a way he’s never seen the boy since the day he met him.

“Well, you can check it out anyway, and see if you like it. See if maybe it’ll work for you.”

“Tomorrow. Show me tomorrow. For now, we should get back with the rest of the pack.”

They both look at him, identical smiles spreading across their faces, and he frowns before growling, “What?”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call us all a pack. Does that mean dad’s your alpha?”

“You know he fuckin’ is. Jesus. I keep sayin’ it. Disgusting gossips, all of you. Worse than old grannies who ain’t got nothin’ better t’ do with their time.”

“Good.” Carl smiles and nods, brimming with satisfaction. “That’s good. So he’s your alpha, and you guys are together. That’s awesome.”

Oh fuck, he’d forgotten they’d all seen that. So much has happened since then, and it hasn’t even been a full day. “Yeah,” he hedges awkwardly, eyeing the cub and scenting him to try and pick up any trace of disgust or anger. He finds none, and marvels at how accepting Carl can be—how accepting all of them are. Maybe he should have expected it, though, because after everything they’ve gone through, after every disaster, every person they’ve had to bury, every struggle they’ve faced together as a family, as a _pack_ , why would this matter to them? Why would Rick and Daryl’s happiness in each other not be acceptable?

“Good,” the teenager says again, giving him one last quick hug before he’s heading for the house. Carol follows right behind him, and Daryl walks a bit slower, chewing his lip and glancing at all of the houses around them, listening to the sounds of life and smelling the faint rot of walkers beneath the stronger blanket of contentment and peace, before he jumps up onto the porch, ignoring the steps and slipping into the house.

 

 

 

The pack settles in over the next few days, the tension leaving most of them as they relax and start becoming involved in the community. Everyone winds up with jobs—everyone but Daryl. Deanna told them that she has something in mind for Rick and Michonne, but no one seems to have any idea what to do with the archer. He’s perfectly okay with that, choosing to spend his time loping around the perimeter fences, checking them constantly for threats, or sitting on the porch. Which is where he is now, working on his crossbow and trying not to shift and scare the hell out of the clueless Alexandrians who offer him wary greetings before hurrying on their way. When Carol comes out dressed in a fucking _button-down sweater_ , fussing with the way it’s laying and saying something about casseroles, he stares at her and cannot keep the stupefied look off of his face.

“I’m going to make dinner for the older people,” she explains, looking at him with an expression that is somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Moms who need a break, people who can’t cook, all of that. I’m going to get to meet a lot of the neighbors that way.”

He can’t help himself. He scoffs. “All right. You have fun with that then.”

Her stare turns faintly accusing as she looks at him. “Have you taken a shower yet?”

“Mm-hmm,” he lies, nodding and knowing that her question was rhetorical, because anyone can see from looking at him that, no, he hasn’t fucking showered yet. He’s not comfortable here, not comfortable enough to take that last step like the rest of his pack has. He doesn’t want to settle into domesticity, and pretend like everything is fine and dandy when he’s sitting more on his hips to avoid pressing the damn tampon any further inside of him. He’s aching, and empty, and he fucking _needs_ Rick, and his alpha is busy doing neighborly things and making nice with _Jesse_. He still comes home to Daryl, still steals kisses and whispers hot promises that make the archer squirm. They haven’t found the time to be alone yet, and he doesn’t know how much more he can take before he starts climbing the walls. Either that, or he’s going to shift, the Alexandrians be damned, and then he’s _really_ going to climb the fucking walls, clawing at the sheets of metal and searching for a way out.

“Take a shower,” Carol orders, rolling her eyes and starting to walk away. “I want to wash that vest. We all need to keep up appearances, even you.” She says the last part over her shoulder, already down the porch steps and walking up the sidewalk.

“Ain’t done it yet, ain’t startin’ now,” he growls, going back to waxing his bowstring.

“I’m gonna hose you down in your sleep!” she threatens, but there’s more fondness in her than true intent.

“You look ridiculous,” he informs her retreating back, curling his lip in disdain at the good little housewife persona she’s decided to adopt. “You fuckin’ touch me with that hose, an’ I’ll burn every casserole!”

“Take a shower!”

Grumbling, he turns back to his task, only to freeze when he sees Rick striding up to the house from the other direction, his eyes locked on Daryl’s and holding the archer in place with the sheer power crackling in them. There’s enough of the Wild in him still to make them glow, and he takes the steps with purpose, slinking right up alongside him and grabbing his bare bicep.

“You. Inside. Now.”

“Rick, what-”

“Everyone else is gone. Carl took Judith to be fawned over by the old folks. Bob is with Pete, geeking out over medical shit. _No one is here_ , and I have a promise to keep. So put down your bow, darlin’, and get the fuck inside.”

Daryl gets the fuck inside, scrambling for the door and taking the steps to the second floor three at a time, Rick right on his heels and growling as he herds the archer into the master bedroom and slams the door shut, throwing the lock in place and reaching down to take off his shirt. The wolf is already mostly naked, fumbling with the button of his jeans before growling and just ripping it off, listening to it ping against the floor and roll somewhere. He yanks his zipper down, and then hesitates. “Rick, I gotta tell you-”

“You think I don’t already know?” his alpha snarls, naked and shoving him back onto the bed, crawling up over him and settling right where he belongs when Daryl automatically spreads his legs wide to invite him between them, whining and baring his throat and so fucking hard already that he’s leaking. “Think I haven’t been able to feel it for the last few days, how badly you’ve been achin’ for me to fill you up? Heard you in the bathroom yesterday, all the way from the kitchen. Heard you beggin’ and sobbin’ to be filled, could tell you had your fingers inside of you but you needed more. You’re lucky Glenn was sleeping on the couch, or I’d have bent you over the sink and fucked you until everyone heard you coming for me.”

“ _Fucking Christ, Rick,_ ” Daryl moans, wriggling the rest of the way out of his pants and crawling up the bed, reaching between his legs when he has the room to and dragging the tampon out of his twitching hole. The scent of his heat fills the air, slick already leaking out onto the bed, and the Wild flares in his alpha’s eyes, turning them black.

“ _Mine_ ,” he snarls, barely waiting for Daryl to get on his hands and knees. He drops his head and bites the blanket, keening desperately when Rick mounts him and fucks into his loose, wet hole with no need for any kind of preparation or stretching beforehand.

_Oh my god._

If this is what it feels like to be fucked during a heat, then Rick isn’t going anywhere until it’s over. Daryl will tie him to the bed if he has to so that he can have this, his walls rippling and clenching tightly around his alpha’s cock in a way that makes his vision go black. He comes before Rick is even all the way in, and as soon as his mate’s hips slam against him, bruising him in a way that’s _so fucking good, alpha, please, I need more, need you_ , the man snarls again and bites down on the claiming scar, and then they’re off.

The blankets are shredded, and he’s pretty sure he’s clawed the mattress to ribbons as well, and he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even have the capacity for speech, can’t even make himself beg mentally. The most indecent noises are spilling from him, yelps and whines and pitiful moans, as Rick fucks him relentlessly and doesn’t stop, even when Daryl comes again, and then a third time God only knows how much time later. He’s sure Rick has cum at least once as well, can feel it mingling with the slick running down his thighs and pooling in a soaking puddle he knows is going to stain the comforter. They’ll have to burn it after this. Or hell, maybe he’ll steal it and tuck it away with the other blankets and pillows he’s begun adding to his den.

_Gonna breed you properly, darlin’. You want that? Said you did, before. Smell so ready for me, so desperate to be filled. Look at you, fucking yourself back on my cock. Can’t even beg anymore, can you? Christ, Daryl, you’re so fucking perfect. So fucking mine. Gonna cum for me again, omega? I want you to. I want you to keep coming until there’s not a single drop left. Think you can do that for me?_

He can’t even nod, just whines and bows his back a little more, digs his claws into the mattress, and opens himself up to his alpha as much as he can. All he can think about is Rick breeding him, his alpha’s cub growing inside of him, how his belly will grow and there will be no one who will dare question the parentage. He imagines a little girl with storm-blue eyes and the Wild in her; a boy with Rick’s curls and Daryl’s attitude. He imagines every possible combination he can think of, sending all of them through the link and howling as Rick slams into him hard enough to knock him up against the headboard. He flattens his palms against the sturdy wood and bucks back, rolling and grinding his hips; fucking himself on his alpha’s cock while Rick’s forearms press against his waist and the man growls against the back of his neck as he fills Daryl again.

Driven by heat or not, they can’t spend days on end fucking like rabbits, no matter how much they might want to. Daryl already feels sore beyond explanation, his muscles burning and the bite mark throbbing as Rick rumbles in pleasure and drags his tongue over it. He lays his head against the pillows he’s ended up on top of, purring as his mate licks down his spine and keeps crooning to him. And then he jolts like he’s been electrocuted, because the man is nosing between his cheeks and licking at his hole, which he _knows_ is gaping and loose, sloppy with his slick and Rick’s cum. His alpha doesn’t seem to care, just continues to clean him in a way that’s too close to loving grooming and too far from kink.

“Stay,” he whispers, his breath hot against the back of the archer’s left thigh. He couldn’t leave even if he tried, so he curls over onto his side and nuzzles into the pillow that smells the most like his mate, his need sated for the moment. He still enjoys watching Rick tug on a pair of sleeping pants, not even bothering with a shirt; his eyes heavy-lidded as he follows the human’s path across the room to the door that leads to a bathroom.

Rick comes back with a glass of water, and Daryl suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. He drinks it all, and then stubbornly forces himself to get up and limps into the pristine bathroom, rumbling and nipping at his mate every time he tries to help. He may be literally fucked loose and feeling boneless, but he doesn’t need help walking fifteen feet. He’s not that pathetic.

Rather than filling the glass again and again, he just turns the cold water on and drinks straight from the tap, almost choking when Rick slides back into him easily and proceeds to fuck him against the sink, nuzzling his bite scar and nipping at his ears while Daryl scrabbles for the closest thing to hold onto and manages to find the words to beg for more.

“Gonna let me clean you off?” Rick breathes in his ear when they’re done, still grinding forward in gentle rolls of his hips and petting the archer’s trembling abdomen. “Bet you’ll look so nice for me, all cleaned up. I could shave you, too, if you’re feeling agreeable.”

“All y’all need to get th’ hell offa my back ‘bout showerin’. I’ll take one when I’m damn well good and ready. Now get gone, Grimes. Let me get some clothes on, ‘cause I’m fuckin’ starvin’ and I ain’t goin’ into the kitchen like this.”

“Want me to clean you up at least a little, then?”

“Fuck no. Wanna wear your cum. Want you to _know_ what’s smeared all over me, leakin’ outta me, every time you make fuckin’ eyes at _Jesse_.”

“Appearances, Daryl,” his alpha rumbles, nuzzling behind his ear and slapping him lightly on the hip. He starts in surprise, and can’t stop the moan that tumbles out of him. “Like that, do you? Might just have to do it more, since you don’t seem to understand that I ain’t got any interest in havin’ an affair with Jesse. She’s not what I want, darlin’. Got all I want right here in front of me.”

The wolf whines and turns to press his cheek against Rick’s shoulder, nuzzling along the strong, prominent collar bones and up the man’s throat until he can tuck his face under his mate’s jaw and nuzzle him there, licking the rough, shaven skin and trying to decide if he likes Rick like this or with the beard more. An idea comes to him, and he bites the skin beneath his lips, sucking hard enough to make Rick moan and only pulling back when he smells the bruise blooming, admiring the mark and nodding.

Satisfied, he kisses the man, making it quick and dirty, and then he’s heading back to get dressed, the two of them biting at each other between their licks and nuzzles. When they’re presentable, he lets Rick lead the way to the kitchen and drags out the first chunk of raw meat he can find, making a face at the size of the portion but eating it anyway. “Gonna have to go an’ find us a deer,” he mumbles between bloody bites, feeling a lot more settled now, with Rick pressed against his side and his alpha’s mind tangled up in his where it belongs. “The meat portions they give us are pathetic.”

“I’ll come with you. Maybe bring Carol, too,” his mate muses. He feeds the man a few bites, flushing at the way Rick licks and bites at his fingers as they share the meal between themselves. “We can have ourselves a little talk about what to do if it turns out these people need us more than we need them.”

“Yeah,” Daryl rumbles, perking up when he smells Bob’s faint mint-and-chocolate scent and feels his packmate nudge against his mind curiously, checking on him. He nuzzles the black wolf in return, and then he’s distracted by a flare of aggressive tension from Glenn, and he frowns. “Might have a problem, alpha.”

They head for the gates, and find Aiden and Glenn having it out. Aiden’s the one making a scene, getting in his packmate’s face and _shoving_ him while Glenn radiates danger and yet still manages to keep himself under control. When Deanna hurries up, demanding to know what’s going on, Aiden’s quick to spit out acidic words.

“This guy’s guy a problem with the way we do things,” he sneers, turning to glare at the woman. “Why’d you let these people in here?”

Daryl rumbles, furious, and slinks closer, ready to back up his packmate if he needs to.

“Because we actually know what we’re doin’ out there,” Glenn retorts. Aiden swings at him, and the Asian ducks easily, surging back up and slamming his fist into the man’s face hard enough to throw him back. When Nicholas moves in, aiming to take Glenn by surprise, Daryl snarls loudly enough to make those around him freeze and launches himself across the distance separating him from the slimy coward, slamming into him and pinning him hard against the ground, lips curled back and his teeth bared. People are screaming, the sound of running echoing in his mind, but Daryl’s too focused on the man below him who reeks of fear and urine, the joints of his shoulders grinding together painfully under the weight of Daryl’s paws.

_Paws._

Fuck. Oh fuck no. He’s shifted in front of the Alexandrians, over nine hundred pounds of fur and Wild pinning one of them to the asphalt, wicked teeth bared. He’s already backing up when Rick gets to him, his alpha’s arm like an iron band against his chest. Daryl allows himself to be hauled back, rumbling and pacing; ducking his head to glare under his mate’s arm at Nicholas while he allows Rick to soothe him with his words and the way he curls into Daryl’s mind, curls over him, bringing him back from the brink until he settles enough to lay down and rest his head on his paws, his tail curled tightly against his side and his ears laying back as he whines.

_I’m sorry, alpha. So sorry. He went after Glenn. Went after a member of the pack. Was gonna try and get him when his back was turned. Couldn’t let him. Couldn’t let him hurt our family._

_I know, Daryl. I know. Calm down, darlin’. Breathe. We’ll figure this out._

“What the hell just happened?” Deanna shouts, and Daryl flinches. “Rick, you want to tell me why the hell one of your people just turned into a wolf, and why no one thought to inform me of this before?”

Rick squares his shoulders and turns to meet Deanna’s furious gaze, his own stormy eyes dark but calm. “Daryl reacted instinctively to what was a clear threat to a member of his pack. I’m sorry it had to happen this way.”

“Can you guarantee me that it will not happen again? Can you guarantee the safety of the people here? I will not have a feral beast rampaging through this community.”

His alpha rumbles and lifts his head, the air around him crackling with his power. “Daryl is not feral, nor is he a threat. Has he harmed anyone? Has anyone made claims of him terrorizing them? He cannot fight his nature, any more than you or I can. That his nature is different from our own shouldn’t matter, either. You have a wolf here. I know you do. We’ve already met him.”

“Eric doesn’t nearly rip out the throats of his neighbors,” Deanna replies tightly. Daryl trembles and looks on, barely noticing the others gathering around him until Bob is laying against his side and Carol is sitting Judith in front of him. The baby girl squeals, drawing everyone’s attention, and pats happily at his muzzle until he whines and starts licking at her little hands and arms, lifting his head and crawling closer until she’s between his forelegs and tugging on his throat ruff, pulling too hard accidentally and cooing at him when he rumbles lovingly.

“Does that look like a threat to you?” Rick asks, drawing his attention again and making the wolf tense as he looks at Deanna with fear and unease. She could make them leave; could throw them out for this. Jesus, he was so fucking stupid. He should have been able to control himself better, but the Wild is too close to the surface, his emotions too unstable because of his heat.

“Daryl isn’t a threat to anyone who isn’t a threat to his pack.” Those words come from Aaron, who is making his way closer with Eric. They’re both looking at him, and then Eric turns to his leader and smiles.

“The night before we brought them back to Alexandria, I was waiting for Aaron when walkers found me. Too many for me to fight myself.” The beta tips his head toward the wolf again, but doesn’t look away from Deanna. “They found me, and they fought to make sure I was okay. _Daryl_ fought to make sure I was okay, and he didn’t even know me. He smelled Aaron on me, though, and knew what we were to each other, and that was enough for him. He’s a good man, Deanna.”

The woman takes a moment, clearly thinking over her words, and then she looks at Rick and nods. “Everyone, I want you to listen up,” she says, raising her voice so all of them can hear her without any trouble. “Rick and his people are part of this community now, in all ways, as equals.” She looks at Daryl, and the pale wolf trembles, whining softly and dipping his head to her in thanks. Relief so intense it’s almost palpable fills him, fills the pack, and they all reach out to touch whatever part of him they’re closest to. Rick moves to crouch at his side, laying his hand between his ears. “Understood?” The woman poses it like a question, but everyone knows it’s not. She’s made her choice, decided their fate and chosen to welcome them to Alexandria. When she looks at Aiden pointedly, her son sighs but acquiesces grudgingly.

“Understood,” he mutters.

Everyone leaves when it’s clear the matter is settled, and Rick stands again, his hands on his belt, when Deanna approaches him. She looks at Daryl first, a hint of warmth in her eyes.

“I admire a man who will do whatever it takes to protect his family. I’m sorry that things have been so hard on you since you got here. What happened today will not happen again. I promise you that. Can you do the same?”

Overcome, Daryl can only nod. If Deanna can keep her people under control, he can keep his Wild blood calm enough to only shift when he chooses to, instead of having another repeat of today.

It seems that the leader of Alexandria is satisfied with this, because she looks at Rick again and smiles. “I told you that I have a job for you,” she reminds him. Rick nods a little warily, and the woman’s smile gets bigger. “I want you to be our constable.”

They all look up in surprise, and Daryl huffs in amusement. “That’s what you were,” Deanna continues. “That’s what you _are_.” When Rick stares at her, clearly at a loss for words, Deanna turns to Michonne. “And you, too.”

His packmate’s facial expression changes very little aside from the way her eyes widen, but Daryl can smell her. She smells like sweet grass and clover, like fresh mountain springs tumbling over the side of a rock face, thundering joyously. When asked if they will accept their new roles, his alpha can do nothing but agree, still sounding a little dazed. Michonne nods, also accepting, and the noise Daryl makes could be seen as derisive, but he’s nuzzling against both of their minds, offering support in his own way as he stands and pads away from them.

Jesse is hovering nearby, her fingers pressed against her mouth as she watches Rick lean closer to mutter something to Deanna. The wolf pauses, looking at her and sniffing the air. What he smells makes him lay his ears back and growl, feeling all of his insecurities come raging back with a vengeance as he sees the look in her eyes; sees the glance Rick sends her way when he realizes she’s there.

 _C’mon, pack brother,_ Bob whispers gently, brushing against his mind and nuzzling him to get his attention. _You and I need to have a talk._

Head low and tail limp, Daryl follows after the other wolf, his thoughts dark and self-deprecating. He’s always been his own worst enemy, and for good reason, he thinks. Rick can promise him the world in the heat of the moment, but afterwards? Afterwards he’s free to live up to his vows or discard them as he chooses, and Daryl is helpless to do anything but watch as his alpha, his _mate_ , looks at a human woman with an expression on his face that Daryl can never hope to have sent his way.

Jesse is sweet, and beautiful, and untouched by the filth that Daryl must trudge through every single day, because he’s a wolf and he’s a Dixon, and no Dixon is ever meant to have anything good happen to them. He’s broken, and scarred, and can’t even pretend to be human, not with the way the Wild sings through him, shining out of every crack and leaving no way for others to believe him to be anything other than what he is. And what he is, is nobody. Nothing. Just some no-good redneck asshole with the Wild in his soul.

Next to Jesse, he can’t even compare. Next to Jesse, he has no chance. And with a mark already against him in the eyes of the Alexandrians, no matter what Deanna has said, he can’t expect to be allowed to stay for much longer. When they finally do tell him he has to go, he doesn’t expect his pack to come with him. He won’t let them. They’ll stay, and they’ll be happy, and Rick can be with Jesse even though she’s married to Pete.

Daryl doesn’t deserve to be anything but alone, because when he’s around others, they just end up dead and buried. If he’s meant to be the last man standing, it’s just going to be because everyone around him has been slaughtered, their fate sealed simply for being in his presence. That’s how it was with Beth, and Hershel, and Merle. That’s why Dale is dead, and Lori, and everyone else. He fails at keeping those closest to him safe.

He fails at everything he tries, especially love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you kill me, I can't fix it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An understanding is reached, and a freak-out is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FIXED IT LIKE I PROMISED.
> 
> At this point, I'm only loosely following canon. I have a feeling that I'm going to break away completely before the end of this thing. I hope no one is too upset by that.
> 
> I LOVE ALL OF YOU. I TRIED TO MAKE THE 'OH HEY YOU'RE PREGGO' REVEAL AS REALISTIC AS I COULD.
> 
> Rest in peace, sir Alan Rickman. The world lost a beautiful, talented soul when you left it.

_You’ve gotta stop this, Daryl._

Bob is crouched in the doorway to his den, his golden-green eyes the only outward sign of the man’s distress. Daryl looks at him and narrows his eyes, curling his lips back to bare his teeth slightly.

 _Ain’t doin’ nothin’,_ he growls before turning his back to the other man, curling into a tighter ball and tucking his nose into his tail. He hears the other wolf coming into the room, hears the click of the latch as the door closes, and growls louder. _Get the fuck out, Bob._

_Hell no. Not until I convince you that you’re being an idiot._

He’s not being an idiot. How else is he supposed to be reacting to the fact that his mate is getting cozy with some dumb blonde bitch who’s probably never had to kill a walker in her damn life? Jesse can offer the alpha so much more than some half-feral beast like Daryl. He hopes they’re fucking happy together.

Only he doesn’t, because Rick is _his_. He thought he was, anyway, and now he’s off being a cop again, off sweet-talking the neighbors and making eyes at a fucking married woman. He’s off being _Shane_ , and look how it ended for him.

“Daryl, I don’t think you’re seeing this the way it’s really happening,” Bob says softly. The wolf rumbles in disagreement and doesn’t look away from the darkened wall. Carl had kept his promise and helped Daryl set up his den-area. They’d blacked out the windows and hauled every extra blanket and pillow in, just the two of them. The others had offered to help, but it had felt like something that was just theirs to do, and Carl had been insistent that they were fine doing it on their own. Having this little space, somewhere that’s just _his_ , has come in very handy.

_Pretty hard to see it as anything other than what it fuckin’ is._

_We’re worried about you, pack brother. You’ve shut us out. You shut **Rick** out. When’s the last time you walked on two legs?_

_Stop ridin’ my ass, man. I’m fine._

“No, you’re really, really not.” Bob touches him, pressing a palm between his furry shoulders, and Daryl snarls as he explodes. The black wolf barely has time to get far enough away, barely has time to shift, before the archer is on him. This time, he doesn’t stand there meekly and accept the thrashing. This time, he fights back, teeth bared and eyes glowing as he feints and bites and tries to protect his throat and belly.

Daryl shouldn’t be doing this. He’s pissed off, and hurt, and he knows his packmate is only trying to help. He just hates Alexandria, hates everything it stands for; hates fucking Pete, and _Jesse_ , and everyone else who looks at him and sees nothing but the beast he is. He misses the forest, being a _survivor_ , because out there no one turned their nose up when he dragged home a deer. Out there, his pack appreciated how he was. Here they keep telling him he has to fit in, has to play nice. They want him to sit and watch while he loses his mate, and he _refuses_.

So he’s hiding. He’s shut them all out, just like Bob accused. Ever since the night Aaron and Eric invited him into their home, after he tried to force himself to go to the fucking _welcome to Alexandria_ party their people were throwing, he’s chosen to be a wolf. Ever since the night he almost made it through the door, before he saw Rick lean too close to Jesse and knew what was coming, had turned tail and tried to bolt, only to end up eating spaghetti with the couple; after Aaron had extended the offer to go out and look for recruits, had shown him the bike and his fingers had twitched with the urge to fix it—after all of it, Daryl had come back to the house, kicked out of his clothes, crawled into his den, and shifted. He’d shut off every link to the others, and has only slunk out well after dark, when their heartbeats were all slow and steady from sleep, to go and hunt.

 _What the fuck do you want from me?_ he shouts, trying to pin Bob in the corner, snapping at his face and being snapped at in return. _God, you’re not my fuckin’ mom. You ain’t my Daddy. Leave me alone!_

_Why, so you can go feral again? So they’ll have no choice but to throw you out the front gate? That what you want, Daryl? You want us all to sit in silence and watch you lose yourself, and make us lose you, too? That seems pretty selfish to me. Pretty fucking selfish._

_The fuck would you know about it, man? You’ve got your pretty mate. You’ve got your four walls an’ a roof, an’ your suburban dream. What the fuck’ve I got?_

_A pack and a mate who are desperate to show you that you’ve got the same damn thing!_ Bob surges forward, slamming his shoulder into Daryl’s chest and sending him scrabbling for purchase. With all of the blankets beneath him, sliding against the floor, he can’t find it. He goes low instead, snarling and aiming to close his teeth around the black wolf’s leg, but Bob bites first. Teeth close around his scruff, a growl muffled through flesh and fur, and Daryl goes limp. His spitting and snarling fades to an uncertain whine, all of his fury fleeing. He doesn’t try to hold onto it, doesn’t try to lunge again even when his packmate releases him and he slumps to the floor, still whining.

 _What did I do wrong?_ he whispers as Bob lays beside him and begins trying to groom his dirty, tangled fur. _He promised. He promised me always. What did I do wrong?_

_You did nothing wrong, Daryl, other than reading too much into something that wasn’t actually a thing. Did he ever smell like he was interested in her, even once? Did you stop long enough to check? We know better than anyone that what you see and what you smell can make a big difference._

Closing his eyes, Daryl tries to think back to every interaction between his mate and Jesse, tries to remember what he’d smelled from his alpha when he’d looked at the woman. Whining, he shakes his head. _Don’t think I stayed around long enough to check. But at the party, he tried… he tried to…_

_What, kiss her? I was there, Daryl, until Sasha had a bit of a breakdown and I had to get her home. He leaned closer, but there was no kiss. There was no scent of anything to indicate attraction._

_Then what the fuck was he doing?_ Laying his ears back, he buries his nose beneath the folds of a soft, fuzzy blanket.

 _Questioning her. Carol thinks that Pete is abusing her and her cubs._ Bob’s still grooming him, and it feels so nice, like they’re still pack even though Daryl tried to shove everyone away, tried to make it less painful for when he was finally told he had to leave. _You know Rick, Daryl. You know what kind of man he is. Do you really think he would just stand by and let someone be hurt if he thought he could stop it?_

Rick would never do that. He remembers how hard he’d tried to help Carol, after Ed was dead and gone—how the man had smelled like fury, dark and potent, when he realized what the asshole was doing to his wife and cub. How hard he had looked for Sophia after she’d gone missing, and how he’d refused to give up when anyone tried to tell him that maybe it was time to stop. He’s never been the kind of man to just stand aside and watch someone being hurt, has always been a good man, a good _alpha_. Everything that has happened, every painful moment and every joyful one, Rick has been there for all of it, helping them along, being the leader they needed him to be.

Tentatively, Daryl opens a few of the links again, reaching out to touch Sasha’s mind, and Carl’s, and Carol’s. They flood in as soon as they feel him, relief and sorrow and a little bit of frustrated anger rippling against his mind, like they’ve been battering at the doors he’s slammed shut between them. Before he can sort through everything, whining and pressing back against their minds, curling against them in return, the door slams open and Carl comes tumbling in, reeking of smoke and charred wood.

“Fuck you, Daryl,” the teenager whispers, dropping to his knees and pressing his face into the pale wolf’s fur on his other side. Wiry arms wrap around his neck as much as they can, Carl’s cheek nuzzling against his shoulder. “Everyone here is so oblivious, so unprepared. They don’t understand, but you do, so don’t you _dare_ fucking pull this shit again.”

 _You watch yer mouth, pup,_ he huffs, but he curls around Carl anyway, mingling their scents in a way they haven’t been able to since he’s been hiding, nuzzling and whining until the scent of sorrow fades away and the sweet smells of honeydew and watermelon come back.

“I’ve missed you,” the teenager mumbles into his fur, still hugging him. “We all have. Please come back. Dad’s losing his mind without you. Like, literally losing his mind. You need to help him.”

Blinking, the wolf cocks his head to the side and whines in confusion as he licks his lips. _Whatchu mean, pup?_

“It’s like the prison after mom all over again. He’s getting darker. I’m afraid he’s going to snap, soon. We can’t let that happen.”

 _No, we can’t,_ Bob agrees. The beta lays his head over Daryl’s back, chuffing quietly and looking at the archer from the corner of one half-closed eye. _You think you can help us, Daryl?_

_Let’s find out._

 

 

 

Carl wasn’t lying. Unfortunately, he was also right, because they find Rick just in time to watch him come crashing through Jesse’s front window with Pete, the two of them yelling and snarling and covered in blood. Bob barks in surprise, and Daryl lunges forward, shoving his muzzle between them and sending Rick bowling back just as his alpha reaches for the gun that’s tucked down the back of his pants, hidden by his constable’s jacket.

_Rick!_

His alpha pauses, his eyes burning blue and Wild, unfocused until Daryl whines and nudges at his chest. He zeroes in on the pale wolf, blinking, and the last defenses he’s been trying to hold up crumble.

 _Alpha_ , he whines, throwing the link to his mate wide open again and surging forward to curl his mind around Rick’s, crooning and whimpering as he feels the presence he’s been missing so badly it _hurt_ settle over him again, right where his alpha belongs. He bares his throat to the man and shivers when he feels him press his face into his fur, the gun forgotten as strong arms wrap around him and stroke through his ruff.

 _Don’t you_ ever _do that again_. Rick is pressing kisses against his neck, making his skin shiver and tingle. _God, when I couldn’t reach you, I thought I was losing my mind. Felt like a part of me was just gone, and I couldn’t find it. What the hell, Daryl?_

_I was stupid, alpha, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please, just don’t… Don’t forget about me, okay? Thought you were. Thought you wanted Jesse, wanted someone who weren’t ever broken._

_God, no. You’re not broken, Daryl. Strongest damn person I’ve ever met. She can’t hold a candle to you, darlin’._

“This is becoming a habit, it seems,” Deanna comments. Daryl looks over at the woman, licking his lips and whining softly in distress. She doesn’t look angry, though—at least, not at them. “Would someone like to tell me what’s going on, here?”

“That asshole assaulted me!” Pete shouts. Daryl looks at the man, smells the alcohol on his breath; watches the way he tries to lunge forward, only to stumble back as Bob growls. He and Carl have put themselves between Rick and the other man, and their silent warning is pretty clear: _Come no closer._

“Rick?” When Deanna looks at them, his alpha stands and wipes some of the blood away from his nose and mouth, sniffing quickly like that’s going to be enough to stop a little more leaking out of his nose.

“Came to talk to Jesse and found him hittin’ her,” he replies. When Pete keeps shouting insults, calling him a liar and a homewrecker, Daryl snarls but doesn’t move from his mate’s side. “When I tried to intervene, he began to assault me. I tried to take control of the situation, and it escalated. I’ll repair the window, if you’d like me to.”

“I think he can repair his own window,” Deanna decides, looking at Pete like he’s something undesirable that she’s gotten on her shoe. “We’ll hold him in one of the empty houses until he sobers up, and then decide his fate from there. You’re a doctor, aren’t you, Mr. Stookey?” She looks at Bob, and the black wolf huffs, dipping his head in confirmation. “Would you be willing to take over as our doctor, if the community decides to exile this man?”

 _Yes, ma’am, I would._ Bob’s tail is wagging, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth and his eyes bright. _I can take over for him in the meantime, if you’d like. I’m sure there are a few people who need looked at, or are gonna need it, while he sobers up._

“I would appreciate that, thank you.”

And then it’s over, and people are trickling away now that the drama and entertainment is done with. Michonne slaps handcuffs on Pete, who is still snarling and glaring at all of them. When her dark eyes meet Daryl’s, he dips his head and looks away.

_I’m sorry. Just had to figure some shit out._

_Glad you did. Welcome back, pack brother._ She smiles when his ears perk, and then she’s dragging Pete away, effectively thwarting every attempt made by the asshole to delay the process.

“I heard Aaron extended you the offer to help him recruit people,” Deanna says to him, and he blinks as he looks at her. He hadn’t realized that not everyone had left yet. He can see Maggie coming closer, her eyes bright when she spots him and her pace quickening until she’s by his side and hugging him.

“Daryl Dixon, if you ever do that to us again, I will turn you into a rug,” she threatens wetly. He whines and licks her shoulder, trying to comfort her as he’s overwhelmed by all of the gratefulness and joy that’s flooding into his mind from his pack. He’d been trying to ignore how empty his mind had felt without them, because it was his fault they weren’t there in the first place. Now he feels whole again, his tail wagging so hard his whole body is wriggling because of it.

“It will be good to have a wolf with him when you meet new people,” Alexandria’s leader continues once they’ve gathered themselves enough to realize she’s waiting for them to finish so she can keep talking. Daryl looks up at her and tilts his head. “I’ve found that wolves can be the best judge of character, since you can smell deception on a person and see it before anyone else can. I think you two will make a good team.”

 _Thank you_ , he whispers, fluttering uncertainly against the fringes of her mind. The connection between them is full of static, making it hard to be heard, but he thinks she must understand well enough, because she smiles and nods at him before excusing herself. Maggie gives him one last hug, squeezing tightly enough that he’d probably be uncomfortable if he was human at the moment.

“Glad you’re back, Daryl,” his packmate whispers before she’s following Deanna.

“C’mon,” Rick murmurs, laying his hand between the wolf’s ears. “Let’s get home and get you somethin’ to eat. Those bunnies you’ve been chewing on probably haven’t been cutting it these last few days.”

 _Ate a deer, too. Ain’t completely helpless,_ he huffs, but he’s happy to follow his alpha back to the house, Bob and Carl following behind them and radiating so much contentment that he feels like they’ve wrapped him up in a warm blanket. Glenn and Carol are on the porch when they get there, both of them scolding and hugging him in tandem until he’s blinking, trying to decide if they’re furious or happy. He settles on happy when the den mother strokes his muzzle and Glenn swears he’s going to find him the biggest bone he can carry out on the next run.

 _Y’all got some pretty fucked-up ways of showin’ you care,_ he informs them, but his tail is wagging and he’s giving them a wolf-grin, so no one takes him seriously.

“Yeah, well, so do you. Get inside and get some pants, you asshole. I’m gonna punch you when you’re in a body that can’t bite me in half.”

_Wouldn’t bite you in half, Chinaman. Would just maybe maul you a little._

“Ha fuckin’ ha, dick.”

Sasha is sitting on the couch, looking tired and stressed but still lighting up when she sees him. Bob slips past them and lays his head on her lap, crooning happily and panting when she rubs his ears.

“C’mon, darlin’, I want to see you. Haven’t seen you in days.” Rick’s mind is a fast-flowing stream of _how_ , exactly, he wants to see Daryl, and it makes the wolf shiver and whine, makes him desperate, because that’s exactly what he wants to do, as well. When he tries to focus on shifting, though, his Wild soul refuses to let him. Everyone is staring at him, waiting, and he tries again and again, getting more frantic with each failure until they start to realize something is wrong and Bob presses against him, whining and licking at his shoulder.

_Daryl?_

_I can’t,_ he whines frantically. _I can’t shift back._

 

 

 

The floor of the examination room is cold against his side. They’ve had to move things around, shoving a lot of the equipment against the wall in order to make room for him, and Bob had to open the biggest window in the room in order for Daryl to be able to get inside. He’s lucky most of the houses have doorways that are almost wide enough for him to squeeze through, so long as he does it quickly and angles his shoulders right, but the door to the doctor’s office just isn’t big enough.

 _Do you even know what you’re doing?_ he asks as Bob kneels beside him and palpates his side, his fingers warm through the thin layer of his latex gloves. _You were a combat medic, yeah, but you ain’t a vet._

“Hershel taught me a few things. Said they might come in handy some time down the road. He was a smart man.”

 _Yeah, he was._ It still hurts to think of his lost packmate, and he whines quietly as he reaches out to curl against Rick’s mind. His mate is out in the waiting room, pacing. He’d wanted to come in, but Daryl had refused. Having his alpha here will just be more stressful as they try to figure out why he can’t shift. He’s afraid, because he’s _never_ been unable to shift before. No matter how long he spent as a human, or as a wolf, he’s always been able to transition back and forth between them as easily as breathing. Now that he can’t, it’s making him panic. What if there’s something seriously wrong with him?

“Daryl, I need to examine your genitals. Is that okay?”

 _The fuck you wanna touch my dick for?_ It comes out as a harsh bark, and he lifts his head quickly to glare at the medic.

“Not that. I meant the rest of you. I just wanted to warn you before I tried to do it and you bit my hand off.”

_The fuck you need to look for?_

“I’m going to have to do a full examination, Daryl. That means looking at _everything_.”

 _Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Fine, fine! Do what you gotta do. Just make it quick._ Thumping his head back against the floor, he glares at the wall and tries as hard as he can to think of anything but Bob’s fingers beneath his tail, touching and probing and making his skin crawl and his lips curl back. He rumbles, letting his discomfort be known, and his packmate responds with a deep rumble of his own, trying to soothe him. It’s not fucking working.

“I need to do an ultrasound. Can you promise not to bolt while I get it set up?”

_I ain't promisin' shit. The hell you need to do that for, anyway?_

“Internal exam. Might be something going on inside of you that is keeping you from being able to shift. I’m trying to cover every possibility, Daryl. I’ve never run into a wolf who couldn’t shift. Not unless it was a female and-” Bob stops talking and makes a curious noise. It’s a curious noise that makes the pale wolf growl, because he doesn’t like that sound at all.

_Finish that fucking sentence or I swear to god I’m going to rip your leg off._

Bob drags the ultrasound machine over and fiddles with it, getting the settings right. “Not unless it was a female and she was pregnant. I’ve heard of females not being able to shift between forms during the duration of their pregnancy. Shifting puts too much strain on the body, constantly changing your genetic makeup. Organs, bones, everything. It all has to change to accommodate, whether things have to grow or shrink, and it happens so quickly it’s a wonder we can do it at all. So whatever form the female is in when she conceives—and I don’t mean when she mates, I mean when she actually conceives—is the form she ends up stuck in, for lack of a better term, until after she’s given birth.”

_I changed my mind. Take it back, or I’m going to maul you. Ain’t fuckin’ pregnant, Bob. I can’t be. I’m fucking male, in case you haven’t noticed._

“You’re a _submissive_ male,” the medic corrects him. The gel he squeezes onto Daryl’s side is cold. “I should have clipped your fur for this, but I don’t fancy dying today.” When the pale wolf snarls, he chuckles and shakes his head, using the ultrasound wand to smear it around and laying a comforting hand on Daryl’s shoulder when he twitches. “I’ve told you this before, Daryl. I’ve never run into a male wolf who went into heat instead of something closer to rut. I can’t even begin to pretend I know what’s happening here. All I can try and do is check out your internal organs and see if there’s another explanation we can come up with.”

 _I hate you._ The archer tries to angle his head to see the screen, but all he sees are blobs of black and gray, with little specks of white, and he can’t make sense of any of it. Bob can, though, because he went to medical school, or something similar, and his packmate is intensely focused on whatever it is he actually sees, his scent giving away nothing. Looking away, he flattens his ears and tries not to squirm. _Could you, like, fucking talk to me, or grunt, or somethin’? Yer drivin’ me nuts, starin’ at that screen and sayin’ jack shit. The fuck you see?_

“Very healthy organs. The placement is a little bit different than I’m used to, considering you’re in a different body than most of my patients. Here’s your liver, though.” He points at something that just looks like a blob to Daryl. And not just a blob, but a blob that is indistinguishable from all of the other blobs around it.

_Real fuckin’ helpful, jackass. You’re funny as shit._

Bob laughs, and then he presses the wand a little more firmly into Daryl’s side, the pressure edging into discomfort, and makes a sound that is not at all reassuring as his scent spikes with surprise and mingled fascination.

_What? What the fuck you seein’?_

“A uterus. A fully-formed uterus, and a birth canal. It’s connected to your rectal wall, and it looks like there’s some kind of flap or something that’s keeping it blocked, so nothing gets in that isn’t supposed to. I’ve heard of something similar in other animals. Cows have one that protects their urinary tract, so when the bull mounts them and breeds them, he doesn’t accidentally end up in the wrong place. I think Hershel told me about that, too. This is so _fascinating_.”

Daryl’s pretty sure the only part of that that actually registered with him was _uterus_. After that, it was all static and white noise, because he’s freaking the fuck out. He has a uterus. _He has a fucking uterus._ Bob must be able to smell his growing panic, and Rick sure as hell feels it, because his alpha bursts through the door at the same time his packmate starts crooning soothingly and petting his neck.

“Daryl, what-”

_GET THE FUCK OUT!_

Rick staggers back from the force of his mental shout, wide-eyed and hurt. He’s shocked, and for good reason, because the pale wolf has never screamed so loudly at his alpha before, not with his mind-voice. The man’s probably going to end up with one hell of a headache, but he leaves, so Daryl will apologize later. Right now he’s too busy still freaking the fuck out.

_Bob, this is bullshit. This is fucking insanity. I cannot have a uterus._

“Yeah, well, you do. I don’t know if you have one when you’re human as well, and I can’t exactly test that theory right now, because I’m pretty sure the fact that you can’t shift back means you’re pregnant. You’re not very far along, so I have no idea how many cubs there are, but we can try another ultrasound in a few weeks if you want. Congratulations, Daryl. You’re gonna be a father.”

_Cubs._

Bob said cubs. He’s pregnant and Rick’s the father, and he’s going to have _cubs_. He’s going to have children of his very own, which he’d never thought was going to happen even though he’d wished for this very thing—had begged Rick for it in the midst of his heat, and even before that; had thought about it then and too many other times to count, having cubs of his own that would grow up with Judith to play with, that would be _his_.

 _I think I need a minute_ , he says, and he doesn’t even wait for Bob to wipe the ultrasound gel off of his side before he runs.

 

 

 

Carol finds him laying in the back yard, the sun warming his fur as he dozes and tries to come to terms with what Bob has said. He’s definitely going to need to be hosed down at some point, because the gel has dried and is making his fur stiff and stick together in clumps. He cracks open one eye and watches her approach, whining softly. When she sits beside him and leans against his back, he closes his eye again.

“How did the examination go?” she asks curiously. “Bob said it was very insightful, but he didn’t say much else.”

_‘M pregnant._

His packmate chokes on her next inhale, sputtering and slapping at his shoulder while she thumps at her chest to get her lungs working again. “That is not funny, Pookie. We’re all really worried. You’ve never been unable to shift.”

_No, seriously, that’s what it is. ‘M fucking pregnant. Bob said I’m gonna be a wolf until the cubs’re born, ‘cause shifting back and forth puts too much strain on the body. So, uh, yeah. Knocked up. That’s why._

“Daryl Dixon,” Carol says, and he glares when she starts to laugh, laying his ears back but unable to find it in him to be properly affronted, because her mind is nuzzling against his, filled with so much affection and joy on his behalf that he can’t muster up the anger. “You really did never do things half-way, did you?” She shakes her head, still chuckling, and then leans over him so she can press her face into his neck behind his ear, which twitches every time she breathes on it. “I’m guessing you’re not taking it very well?”

_How the fuck am I supposed to take it, Carol? Men can’t get pregnant._

“Yeah, and most people can’t turn into wolves, either,” the woman counters easily. He huffs, sneezing at her, but can’t really come up with an argument for that one. “Maybe this is just one of those things that isn’t supposed to be explained. Maybe we just have to accept it for what it is. You’re going to have cubs, Daryl. We can’t change that. All we can do is prepare for it.”

She lets him stew over that, lets silence settle over them again, the sun shining warmly and the distant snarling and hissing of walkers unable to breach the little bubble that is the Alexandria safe-zone. Daryl presses his furry cheek against the grass and rubs his face into it, rumbling and trying to figure out exactly how his life became this.

“You gonna tell Rick?”

 _Gonna have to. Ain’t exactly somethin’ I can keep from him, since now I’m gonna be a wolf and I’m gonna get huge, and then I’m gonna_ give birth _, Jesus fucking Christ._

If this had happened at any other time, if it had been back at the quarry, or any time before the prison fell, he wouldn’t have been able to. He’d have kept it to himself for as long as he could, agonizing over it every second because he would have had no goddamn clue what was happening to him. He would have chosen to run and hide, rather than let anyone see him like this.

He’s not that man, anymore, for all that he still looks the same. Something in him has shifted, a new kind of awareness of himself blooming. If he’s honest with himself, it happened the day he met Rick, but since then it’s just been growing. He’s still Daryl Dixon, still a redneck with a temper and a strong desire to protect his pack, still a backwoods Southern boy from the mountains of Georgia, but that’s not all he has to be. He’s got a family, a _pack_ , and he’s got Rick, who has chosen him as a mate. They’ve pieced him back together so many times, helping him bind his wounds and howling with him over the loss of other pack members. They’ve never tried to make him anything but who he is, who he _wants_ to be, and he will die for them. For any of them, or for all of them. He’s not a leader, but he’s not some meek sheep, letting himself be led and doing what he’s told because he doesn’t know how to do anything else. He has a voice, and they listen when he speaks up. They accept his opinion even if they don’t always agree with it, and he gives them the same courtesy.

“You should probably do that, then, because here he comes.”

He knows Rick is coming. He’d heard his quick steps hurrying along the sidewalk a few minutes before the man had appeared. Carol pets him one last time, pressing a kiss to the crown of his skull, before she stands up and dusts off her hands and the seat of her pants. “Hello, Rick. Fancy casserole for dinner?  Glenn, Tara, Noah, and Eugene are out. They went out on a run with Aiden and Nicholas a little bit ago. Something about needing new modems to keep the power working right, I think.”

“Can it not be tuna?” Rick asks hopefully. “I think I’ve had enough tuna to last me the rest of my life, by now.”

“I think we have a few cans of chicken in the pantry. I’ll go and see.” She squeezes the man’s arm, throws Daryl another smile, and walks away. It’s just them, now, and his mate wastes no time before he’s kneeling and burying his fingers into Daryl’s fur, rubbing and massaging his shoulder and side until he’s rumbling in contentment.

“Gonna tell me what happened, darlin’? Bob came out and said you’d left, said you needed a little time to figure some things out. What’s going on, Daryl? Don’t shut me out.” _Not again, darlin’. Couldn’t take it if you did it again._

Whining softly, the wolf licks his alpha’s arm as best he can, flattening his ears nervously. _‘M pregnant. Bob thinks it has somethin’ to do with me bein’ a submissive male wolf, an’ goin’ into heat. Said he’d never met a male wolf ‘fore who went into heat. Did an ultrasound to try’n figure out why I can’t shift back, an’ found a uterus. A fuckin’ uterus, Rick. Says it’s too soon to see any cubs, but we can try again in a week or so. See what we can find then._

“So you’re not dying?”

_Nah._

“And you’re not sick.”

_Just knocked up._

Relief slams into him, his alpha’s mind settling heavily over his own with a possessive kind of satisfaction that makes him shiver and whine. Rick croons and strokes his throat, and he bares it for the man, tilting his head back so far his neck aches a little, but he’s so content, so relieved not to be thrown aside, that he doesn’t even care. “Gonna get you to stop thinkin’ I’ll abandon you one day,” his mate rumbles. “Gonna make you understand that no one can replace you. No one will even come close. Not Jesse, not any other fucking person on what’s left of this earth. You’re _mine_ , Daryl. And those cubs? They’re ours. We made them together, and we’re gonna raise them together. Do you understand?”

 _Yes, alpha_ , he whines, rolling so he can curl his body around Rick’s and breathe in his addictive scent—deep forests and musk and love that makes him tremble down to his bones; a hint of lavender and spicy cinnamon that makes his eyelids flutter and his tail wag. _Yours always, Rick._

“And I’m yours, Daryl,” his mate croons, turning so he can cup the wolf’s muzzle and press kisses against his wet nose. “I know you’re supposed to start going out with Aaron, and I’m not gonna try and stop you from doing what you need to do. Just be careful for me, okay? Ain’t just you, anymore. It’s them now, too. Need you to stay safe and come home to me, and the pack. And when the cubs come, we’ll help you. We’ll help you just like y’all helped me, when Judith was born. ‘Cause we’re all a family, darlin’. We’re a pack. We take care of each other.”

Daryl lets Rick and Carl bathe him with the hose, biting at the spray and shaking himself off more than once just to soak them with dirty water and shampoo suds. They’re laughing, their clothes a mess, and in the end, he’s clean and dry, his fur fluffing up in soft spikes that Rick smooths down when he pets him. They tell the rest of the pack, because they wouldn’t dream of keeping it from them, and when the run crew comes back, minus Aiden and Noah, Daryl lets Glenn curl up against his side and tells him, too, giving the Asian man a reason to smile, even if it’s just a small one. Tara’s in surgery, and he knows she’s in good hands, because Bob is taking care of her. When she wakes up, they’ll give her the good news, give her a reason to smile. For now, though, the rest of them pile together on the floor after shoving the furniture out of the way, Rick at his back and Glenn petting his belly, which is still firm for now but won’t be for much longer, not when the cubs start to grow. He’s got his head in Abraham’s lap, his eyes closed in bliss while the man strokes his ears, and none of them are willing to break the silence that’s fallen over all of them while they mourn Noah’s loss and share their joy over the new lives that will soon swell their numbers.

Maybe he’ll name a cub after the brave young man. Maybe he’ll name one after Beth, too. He smiles at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pete needs to die. Horribly.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl meets Buttons, a new recruit is brought to Alexandria, and joyous news is shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy motherfuck I'm sleepy. Been awake for, like, twenty hours. Nnngh. Sleeeeeeeep.
> 
> Anyway. I hope you guys enjoy this. I tried to make it a bit lighter, on account of all the HOLY FUCK DRAMA I've posted lately in regards to these wonderful motherfuckers.
> 
> HOW MANY CUBS, DARYL, C'MON. THE SUSPENSE. IT KILLS ME.

“I think it would be nice, to have cubs.”

Aaron’s wistful voice makes him look over, his ears perking. They’re hunkered down, watching a man wandering around in a red poncho. He smells like nervousness, but also like determination. Daryl won’t be able to get a better read on him until they get closer, but for now they’re choosing to follow him from a distance to try and see what they can glean from his behaviors.

 _Could adopt_ , he mumbles, although that’s a stupid suggestion, considering there’s not enough kids left anymore, and the ones in Alexandria all have their parents. Except for Enid, but he doesn’t think she’d appreciate someone offering to take her in like that. _Could try a surrogate, too_ , the wolf adds as he swings his head back around to keep watching their hopeful recruit.

“We were thinking about it.” The human props his chin on the barrel of his rifle, which Daryl has told him repeatedly is the stupidest thing he’s ever seen anyone do, but considering the fact that Aaron has yet to blow his own face off, he supposes the man has gotten lucky so far.

“Don’t know if anyone would be willing to do that. Maybe someday. Who knows, maybe we’ll find a kid out here, and Eric and I will fall in love with them.” After a moment, he makes a horrified face, like he’d just thought about what he’s said. “Oh god. Nevermind. I wouldn’t wish that on any man, let alone a _child_.”

Snorting, Daryl crouches down further and noses at a thick clump of tall grass, inhaling to see if anyone or anything else worth noting has come through this part of the forest. He can’t smell anything but rabbits and mice.

“Shit.”

Aaron’s curse makes him look up, and he realizes that the poncho-wearing stranger is heading deeper into the woods. They start to follow him, slinking through the overgrown clearing as quietly as they can. It’s easier for Daryl to blend in, because he’s a shorter and his fur is lighter, which helps to camouflage him. Aaron’s not so lucky, but he’s been a recruiter for Alexandria for long enough that he’s gotten very good at what he does. The survivor has no idea he’s being followed, yet, and they hope to keep it that way. Before they get to the opposite side of the field, though, a snort draws their attention.

“Buttons!”

There’s a horse standing there, staring at them. It’s a big stallion, jet black but for a lighter marking on his forehead. As soon as he sees they’re watching him, the horse rears and whinnies loudly before spinning and trotting away.

_Buttons?_

“C’mon, we might be able to catch him!” Aaron looks excited, his eyes bright and twinkling as he digs a rope out of his pack and completely forgets about the man they’ve been following as he hurries after the horse. Daryl follows, trying to figure out what’s going on.

_You call that thing Buttons?_

“A few of the kids saw him running by the walls one day,” the human murmurs as they creep into the smaller clearing the horse has paused in to graze. He knows they’re there, his ears high and alert, but he makes no move to run. Daryl hangs back, trying not to startle the beast, because he doubts Aaron will be able to rope him if he’s got an enormous wolf glued to his hip. “They named him that. I’m not sure why. I’ve been trying to catch him for months and bring him back. He’s pretty wild, but I think he had an owner before.”

 _I’ll say. Probably hasn’t had any human contact in at least a year or two._ Keeping an ear open for approaching walkers, the wolf watches Aaron as he croons softly to the stallion, drawing closer and always keeping himself in the beast’s line of sight. Buttons lifts his head and stares at the human, nickering quietly, and stands docilely while the rope is thrown over his neck. Aaron’s scent spikes, his relief palpable, and Daryl tries not to laugh at the man, because he has a pretty good idea of what’s about to happen. He watches closely, ready to intervene if he needs to, as his friend tightens the rope and tries to lead the horse.

Buttons rears, whinnying sharply and pawing at the air with his front hooves. Aaron hangs on though, absolutely determined, and forces the stallion back to the ground, talking softly and cooing to the beast as he tosses his head and bucks, kicking out with his rear hooves and striking a sapling. The resounding crack makes Daryl wince, but he holds himself back. Getting too close might make the beast even more uncontrollable.

Wonders never cease, though, because Aaron calms the stallion down and offers him an apple. Buttons lips at it curiously, and then crunches on the sweet-tart fruit and nudges the human’s pockets for more, snorting through his velvety nose.

 _Walkers comin’_. He can hear them getting closer, probably drawn by the racket Buttons had been making. _We bringin’ him with us, or takin’ him back?_

“We are absolutely taking him back. I’m not risking losing him now that I’ve finally got him. If I do, I’ll never be able to catch him again.”

_Hope you brought more apples, then._

Aaron brought a whole bag, which is lucky for them, because Buttons seems perfectly happy to be led wherever they want to take him, just so long as they feed him apples. Thankfully, they’re not too far away from Alexandria, and Glenn is on gate-watch, so he sees them coming and hauls the heavy, rust-coated gate open just as they’re getting close, and then the lighter chain-link one that the Alexandrians put in place just in case, trying to block anyone—or any _thing_ —that would try to look through with some kind of weather-resistant cloth.

“You brought a horse,” the Asian man states plainly, looking from Daryl to Aaron. “I didn’t realize we were recruiting horses now. Are people that scarce out there these days?”

_Ha, you’re hilarious. Fuck you. Aaron wanted to bring him back for the kids._

“You realize that Michonne is gonna claim him as soon as she lays eyes on him. Remember how she was with the last one?”

Daryl remembers very well. _They can figure out how to share. Bet she’ll break him to ride, and then we’ll have ourselves a Mountie. Look out, ne’er-do-wells. Hard to tell who will be more dangerous: Her, or Buttons._

“That wild, huh?” Glenn shuts the gates as soon as they’re inside, looking at the horse while Buttons checks out the new environment, his ears twitching and his head up. Aaron is still whispering to the beast, patting his neck and smelling like, funnily enough, caramel apples.

_Worse. Uh oh, speak of the sheriff._

Michonne is making a beeline for them, but she only has eyes for Buttons. As she comes closer, the stallion stretches out his neck and whickers at her, dancing a little in place and swishing his tail. “Look at you, you beautiful thing,” she coos—fucking _coos_ —as she reaches out to touch the horse’s face. They all watch on, expecting a reaction like Aaron had gotten after roping the beast, but Buttons just blows hot air over her face and lips at the collar of her jacket a little.

 _Guess the kids’re gonna lose on this one, Aaron. I think Buttons has made his choice._ The look on the human recruiter’s face is absolutely priceless. He looks betrayed, because it took him nearly a full bag of apples to get Buttons back to Alexandria, but as soon as Michonne takes the rope from him and begins to lead the horse away, he follows as faithfully as a dog.

“Unbelievable,” he huffs, and they can’t help but laugh at him a little.

“Thought you said he was wild,” Glenn teases, mirth shining in his dark eyes. He’s drifted closer to Daryl and is petting a hand through his fur, unconsciously trailing his fingers down to touch the wolf’s sides and stomach.

“He killed a sapling after I roped him. And now he’s a kitten. Unbelievable. Wanna call it a day, Daryl? Might as well. Tonight is the hearing for Pete, isn’t it?”

_Oh shit, yeah, it is. You sure you don’t wanna keep following that guy? Don’t wanna lose him._

Aaron thinks about it, and then nods with a sigh. “Guess we should. All right, let’s get back. We should be able to catch up to him pretty quickly. See you later, Glenn.”

“Good luck, you guys.” He pushes Daryl’s shoulder, seeking his attention. _Bob wants you to find him when you get back. Says he’s ready to try another ultrasound if you are._

Nuzzling against his packmate’s mind, he gives a quick affirmative before loping after Aaron. The man has already opened the gates and stepped out, and he hears Glenn closing them behind him as he follows the human back out into the forest.

They track in silence, but the mood is definitely lighter, even if Aaron is still acting a bit put-out by how quickly Buttons took to Michonne. Daryl’s not that surprised, honestly, after seeing the way the chestnut gelding he’d brought back to the prison had fallen in love with his quiet, dark-skinned packmate.

“Hey, there’s a supermarket or something up ahead. He might have gone there to scavenge for food.”

 _If he hasn’t, we sure as fuck should. No reason to say no to more food, ‘specially with all the mouths to feed back home._ Daryl cocks his head, flicking his ears forward. He hears walkers snarling and hissing, but they sound more agitated than usual. When he and Aaron make it to the fences, he sees them surrounding a car, rocking it and clawing at the windows to try and get to whatever’s inside. Growling, the wolf narrows his eyes and presses his muzzle between a gap in the chain links, trying to see what they’re going after. When they separate enough for him to get a glimpse at the interior of the car, the wolf jolts into action.

_Shit, there’s a guy in the car!_

“This way!” Aaron runs parallel to the fence, leading him as the archer follows. They end up at a gate, which isn’t secure in any way. That’s probably how the guy managed to get inside. It makes it easier for them to slip in mostly unnoticed, the noise only attracting a few walkers, which Daryl deals with. Better to kill them quietly than raise them into even more of a frenzy with gunshots. By the time they get to the car, though, Aaron has no choice but to start shooting, although he only has to fire once or twice, because the wolf takes care of the rest, his eyes burning with the Wild and his muzzle soaked in blood.

Rather than scaring the man inside the vehicle, he falls back and lets the human handle things, prowling back and forth and eyeing the open gate to make sure no more walkers are drawn to investigate. As he’s passing one of the corpses, something catches his attention and he pauses to look at the thing’s head more closely.

_Aaron, look at this._

The walker has a W carved into the flesh on its forehead. It’s not the first one they’ve seen like this, but they still have no idea what it’s supposed to mean. When the man crouches down and makes a disconcerted noise, just as puzzled as he is, Daryl turns to look at the stranger. He’s dressed for warmth, his dark skin grimy and his hair shaved close to his skull. He looks tired, but the grip he’s got on the staff in his hands is sure and steady.

“I’m guessin’ you ain’t one’a them,” he mutters, looking Daryl up and down. “If you were, you’d have killed me already.”

When he reaches out to try and touch the man’s mind, he encounters a wall of static that makes any attempt at communication moot. He’ll never be heard through all of that, so he turns to Aaron and flicks an ear, dipping his head to let the human know he’s going to have to take the lead on this one.

“We’re from a community of people. We were out looking for recruits to bring back.” As Aaron launches into the same speech he’d used when he ran into the pack, Daryl goes to look at the walker again, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at the W. What the hell could it mean? Does it mean ‘walker’? Why carve that into its head, then? It’s pretty obvious that the thing’s a fucking reanimated corpse. What else could it be?

“That’s a damn shame,” the man says, and Daryl looks over at him, blinking. “Name’s Morgan, Daryl. Aaron told me your name, since I guess you and I aren’t gonna have such an easy time talking while you’re like that. You gonna change back? I’d like to thank you when you’ve got the ability to respond.”

“He can’t shift back right now,” Aaron replies for him while Daryl lifts his head and sniffs the air.

_Gotta go, Aaron. More comin’._

“We can talk once we’re somewhere safer, Morgan. C’mon. We should make it back to Alexandria a little before dark.” Aaron takes the lead, with Daryl loping in a half-moon arc around the two men, keeping his ears and eyes open and focused. He pays attention to the conversation between the two men, picking up little bits and pieces that help him form an overall picture of the kind of man Morgan is. He doesn’t smell like a threat, and he doesn’t come across as one. The only thing unnerving about him is the fact that he doesn’t kill walkers, which is how he’d ended up trapped in the car in the first place.

When asked about it, he’d just smiled and said, “All life is precious.” So maybe he’s insane, because those things aren’t people anymore. They’re walkers. It takes him back to the conversation the pack had had in the barn, before Aaron had found them. Rick had said something that had put Daryl on edge—had called them, the pack, the walking dead. Daryl had hated hearing him say it, and had made his feelings on the matter known. He can’t do that right now, though, so he sneezes and lets Aaron talk to the man.

No one is guarding the gate when they get there, which immediately puts him on edge. Aaron lets them in, and Daryl’s running before they’re even open all the way; can hear the shouts and commotion coming from further in. He can smell blood, and Rick’s mind is a roiling ball of fury and grief when he brushes against it. Whining, the wolf tears through the empty streets, skidding around corners and heading for the flickering firelight he can see growing in the distance. Aaron and Morgan are trying to keep up, but he’s not bothering to check his speed, so they’re yards behind him.

Daryl skids to a stop, golden eyes glowing as the fire dances in them, and watches as Rick raises a gun and levels it at Pete’s head. He looks at Deanna, who is on her knees with her husband dead in her lap, his throat cut wide open and his blood staining her clothes. She’s crying, but resolute, and when she looks at Rick, there is no hesitation.

“Do it.”

The gun goes off, and Pete slumps over from where he’d been kneeling. Silence falls, broken by Daryl when he whines uncertainly. Multiple pairs of eyes snap toward him as Aaron and Morgan arrive, taking in the scene with mingled shock and confusion, and he reaches out to nuzzle against his alpha’s mind.

_Rick?_

 

 

 

“He showed up drunk,” Rick mutters, stroking his fingers through the thin, downy-soft fur on Daryl’s belly. They’re curled up in his den, because he’s too big for the bed as a wolf, and his mate refuses to sleep without him. He’d offered to try and drag the mattress in, since there was enough room for it, but Rick had refused. “He had Michonne’s sword, so he must’ve broken in while we were at the meeting. It wasn’t supposed to start without him, but no one wanted to wait. They just wanted to be done with it, I think.”

They’d buried Reggie and left Pete’s body beneath a tarp to deal with later before everyone had gone back to their houses. The pack is all piled into one house again, none of them wanting to be far away from each other ever since Daryl found out he was pregnant. They all seem to think he’s going to go into labor at any second, which is ridiculous, because he’s not even showing yet. It’s been _two weeks_. At most, his belly is a little softer, his nipples a bit sore. Bob has already told him to come by the clinic in the morning for another ultrasound, and they’ll determine the gestation period depending on how big the cubs are. As it is, none of them know what the hell to expect. A regular wolf’s gestation period can be anywhere between three to three and a half months long, while a human is nine months. Daryl could give birth any time between those two markers.

 _He killed Reggie._ That makes the wolf sad. He didn’t interact with the architect much, but the few times he’d seen him, the man had been friendly and welcoming, asking him how he was settling in, if he had any concerns. He knows he’d taken Noah under his wing before the run that had gotten the young man killed.

“He did. He couldn’t be saved, not really. Even if the decision had been exile, something tells me he wouldn’t have just left us alone.” There’s darkness in Rick’s voice, but it’s not a worrying thing. His alpha knows that something has shifted, that the Alexandrians are going to be unstable and frightened. They’ll be looking for guidance, and even though Rick deferred to Deanna tonight on how to deal with Pete, Daryl knows that she’s going to start deferring to him from now on. His alpha is going to take control of Alexandria in whatever way is deemed necessary, just like he knows they’d planned to from the very beginning—from the first moment Aaron extended the offer to them, and they’d tried to decide what to do with it.

_Whatever you decide, alpha, I will follow you._

“I know.” Turning onto his side, his mate presses a kiss to Daryl’s muzzle and sighs softly. “As beautiful as you are like this, I wish you were human. I want to touch you, darlin’.”

_Wanna touch you too. Gonna have to hold off, though. Sorry, alpha. Wouldn’t have shifted if I’d known what would happen._

“Don’t. Don’t apologize for this. I’m not sorry. You shouldn’t be, either. Besides, even if I can’t touch you physically the way that I want to, there are other ways.”

Daryl tilts his head as best he can while he’s laying down, his eyes glowing with curiosity as he looks at his mate. _What do you mean?_

Rick answers by settling over his mind, his mental presence more like a wolf now than he used to be. The Wild is still in him—will always be in him, now that he and Daryl are bonded. It’s no longer Daryl’s, though. His mate has made it his own, morphed it to become a part of him. He’ll never be a wolf, never know the joy of running through the forest with the wind blowing through his fur and feeling the earth beneath his paws, but he’s as close as he can get to it, like this.

Understanding clicks into place, and the archer rolls his mind the way he’d roll his body, offering up his metaphysical presence with a whine that’s muffled by the blankets he’s already shoved his muzzle under. They’ve never done anything like this before. It feels a lot more intimate than joining their bodies, and he’s already trembling from it. Rick mounts him in their minds and digs his teeth into Daryl’s scruff, holding onto him as he slides inside.

There are no words for him to describe what it’s like. It’s not the same as their minds merging, because these aren’t just their thoughts and feelings. This is _them_ , the closest they can get to manifesting their souls, and the wolf digs his claws into the nest beneath him as Rick’s hands settle on his belly. They mate this way, their souls rolling and rocking while their physical bodies stay unmoving, and when he comes, Daryl swallows the howl that wants to spill free. Beside him, Rick shudders and growls, his eyes glowing blue with a hint of gold around his pupils. They pant through the emotional aftermath, their minds curling together the way they always do; nuzzling and crooning to one another as they recover.

 _Jesus fucking Christ,_ Daryl whines, feeling wrung out and hypersensitive. _That was…_

“Euphoric,” his mate supplies, and he nods in agreement with another whine. “Yeah. That was pretty fuckin’ intense, darlin’. Don’t know if we should do that really often, considering I feel like a limp noodle right about now. We’re definitely doin’ it again, though.”

 _Yeah,_ the wolf agrees, settling around his mate and rumbling in satisfaction. Even though Rick wasn’t inside of him the way he’s used to, he still feels well-fucked and content. He knows his mate feels the same way, and he falls asleep to the feeling of Rick’s fingers rubbing his ears, his mate’s relaxed cinnamon scent filling his nose and staying with him even in his dreams.

 

 

 

“Ready for this?” Bob asks. Daryl jerks his head, the closest he can get to affirmation. Rick’s sitting on the floor beside him, his storm-colored eyes constantly jumping between the gel smeared over Daryl’s belly and side and the screen of the ultrasound machine. He’s got no idea how to decipher the pictures, but this is going to be his first view of their cubs, if they’re big enough to see. Daryl’s just as excited at his mate, staring at the screen even though he knows he won’t be able to tell what the fuck he’s looking at as Bob presses the wand against his side and begins to move it around. Just like last time, the pressure edges into discomfort, but he’s willing to deal with it for now.

“Alright, here’s the uterus,” the black wolf announces once he’s found the right angle, pointing at the screen. It’s mostly just a black blob, but there’s tiny gray-and-white specks floating around in it. Daryl looks at those little specks, trying to pick out what’s meaningless and what’s a cub. “They’re bigger than they were the first time, obviously, but they’re probably still too small to really see much. Considering the size of them, though, I’d say your due date is probably in around four and a half or five months. That puts you about in the middle between a wolf’s gestation and a human’s.”

“How many are there?” Rick asks curiously, leaning closer to the screen like that’s going to be enough to tell him.

“Hard to say. I’m not going to make a guess until you’re farther along, Daryl. Could be just one, or there could be as many as five.”

 _Five?_ The thought is a little panic-inducing. _What the hell, why would there be five? Two’s perfect. Just want two._

“You don’t get to decide that, man. Sorry to burst your bubble. I’ve heard of some timber wolves having as many as five or six cubs. Like I said, we’re not going to know for sure until more time has passed. You think you’re okay coming in a few weeks from now? Maybe three? They should be a lot bigger by then, so long as you continue eating right.”

They agree on three weeks and Daryl lays still so that his packmate can actually clean the gel out of his fur this time. His mind is whirring, trying to picture himself taking care of _five_ cubs. Bob doesn’t think it will be that many, but _Jesus_ , what if it is? What if he has five pups? How is he supposed to take care of them and make sure none of them die, or starve? Will his body even produce enough milk to feed that many mouths?

“Hey,” Rick rumbles, catching his attention. He looks over at him, licking his lips nervously and whining. “None of that, Daryl. However many pups are born, you know you’re not going to be taking care of them alone. We’ll all pitch in, you know we will. Gotta admit, though, it’s probably going to be a while before I let anyone else near you ‘n’ them. Wasn’t there for Judith in the beginning, but I sure as hell am gonna be there for them.”

Abraham is relaxing on the porch when they get back, the man’s boots propped up on the railing as he leans back in his chair and sips at a beer. When he sees them, he smirks and salutes with his bottle. “What’s the good news?”

“Everything’s okay so far. Bob thinks they’ll come in about five months. Not sure how many yet.”

“Gonna have a pack of pups runnin’ around, raisin’ hell and gettin’ into every damn thing.” Abraham chuckles, smelling like sand and salt water as he grins at Daryl. “Bet they’ll be sassy little assholes, just like you. May the good Lord help us all.”

_Yeah, fuck you too, ginger._

Tara comes out onto the porch carrying Judith and burning with curiosity. They all freeze, though, and Daryl’s pretty sure he stops breathing, when the little girl leans towards Rick, her pudgy little hands grabbing for him, and gurgles out something that sounds like, “Da! Da!”

Abraham’s feet hit the porch with a solid thump as he sits forward, his eyes bright. “Did she just..?”

“Da!” Judith squeals again, and then Rick’s up on the porch and holding his baby girl, cooing to her and kissing her hair repeatedly. She snuggles against his chest happily, babbling nonsense and still saying ‘Da’ every once and a while. Daryl’s heart fills so much he thinks it might burst, and he jumps up to join his pack, pressing against his mate’s hip and nuzzling Judith’s belly as he curls his mind tenderly against hers. She giggles and pats at his ears.

“’Ryl!”

And there goes his heart. The wolf whines, his tail wagging so hard it hurts every time he beats it against the banister. He keeps whining, licking at the cub and crooning loving praise to her as she bounces in her father’s arms and says his name again. It’s a butchered form of it, but it’s _his name._ Their baby is saying _his_ name, and calling Rick _Da_.

 _That’s my baby girl_ , he purrs, letting her tug on his ears as much as she wants, even if it hurts. _That’s my Li’l Asskicker. Smartest baby alive, ain’tcha, cub? Yeah you are._

“’Ryl,” she coos, her eyes getting heavy. It’s almost time for her nap, so he’s not surprised that she’s falling asleep against her father’s chest, her mind quieting but still seeking theirs. She really is an intelligent cub, knowing already how to reach out with her mind and find them. It’s still clumsy, imperfect in the way all cubs learning to communicate are, but she’s learning. And now she’s starting to talk.

“God, you guys,” Tara complains, her arms crossed as she mock-glares at them. “Stop being so fucking adorable, seriously. You’re making me want to go out and kidnap a kid to raise on my own. Which is a terrible idea, let me tell you. I am not mommy material.”

 _You can help raise the cubs when they’re born,_ Daryl offers, nudging her hip and giving her a wolfish grin. He’s still too full of sweet, happy feelings; knows his emotions are leeching into the rest of the pack, because they’re all coming out to see what’s going on. _We all chipped in for Judith. Now there’s gonna be more mouths that’ll need carin’ for._

“How many?” Carol asks excitedly.

_Dunno yet. Hopefully not five, though. God, I don’t even want to think about five little Dixons running around. Alexandria would fall in less than a day._

“Hey now, darlin’, they ain’t just Dixons. They’ve got Grimes in ‘em, too.”

“Dixon-Grimes, huh?” Carl pipes up, grinning and smelling like honeydew, his mind fizzing against Daryl’s like pop rocks. “I like it.”

Daryl likes it too. He wants to be Daryl Dixon-Grimes—already is, but he wants a way to make it official. Maybe not a wedding ring, but _something_.

“Well, since we’re all sharing the good news,” Maggie chuckles, and everyone looks at her. As soon as he inhales, he knows. The wolf whines and shoves everyone out of the way to stand in front of his packmate, his nose pressed against her belly and his tail wagging slowly as he sniffs and snuffles to learn everything he can about the life growing inside the female’s womb.

“We’re all doomed, ain’t we,” Abraham laughs.

“Statistically, there is no way for a handful of children to bring a walled community of this size into panic and turmoil in less than a day,” Eugene muses. When everyone looks at him, he manages to give a small smile, smelling a little like embarrassment and nervousness. “Technically speaking. I do not know how to apply those statistics to children birthed of these particular unions, however. If I must make a guess, I would say we all might be in a moderate amount of trouble.”

“So a day and a half?” Carl hazards.

“Precisely.”

Everyone laughs this time, and Daryl nuzzles against Maggie’s belly again. _Not far along,_ he croons at her while she pets his ears. _Farther than me, though. Surprised I ain’t noticed ‘fore now._

“You were a little preoccupied,” she chuckles. Her fingers dig into the thick fur at the base of his ears, rubbing in gentle circles until he’s humming in satisfaction.

_Wanna know the gender?_

“Nah,” Glenn answers, reaching out to ruffle the fur between his ears. Daryl nips at him playfully, and huffs when the Asian is too quick for him. “We’re gonna have it be a surprise. You gonna do the same?”

_Yeah._

“I don’t mean to break up the joyous occasion. You all look like you’ve heard the best news, though.” Morgan is standing at the end of their small walkway, looking at them and smiling slightly. He’s still carrying his staff with him. As far as Daryl knows, he hasn’t gone anywhere in Alexandria without it.

“We have,” Rick agrees. He looks happy to see Morgan, and Daryl looks between them. He remembers his mate talking about a man who had saved his life. He’d said that man had had a son. After he, Carl, and Michonne had come back with the guns, Daryl vaguely remembers him saying something about running into the man again, and that he hadn’t been doing well—that he’d lost his son, and his mind. He seems to be doing just fine now, though, and when Rick walks off the porch and down the walkway to greet him, they grip each other’s forearms and smile at one another.

“Care to share with a weary soul? I could use a bit of good news.”

“Just found out that one of our own is expecting. We were congratulating her and her husband.”

“That’s real great, Rick.” Morgan smiles wider, looking past the alpha to peer up at all of them. Daryl cocks his head to the side, drawing the man’s attention. Something flickers in his eyes, distorting his scent with yew berries. “All life is precious. If you don’t mind me askin’, though, how’d you end up with a wolf in your group?”

“He was part of the group of survivors that found me in Atlanta. Didn’t know he was a wolf at the time. Didn’t know until a lot later.”

Morgan’s tension eases, his smile gentling. He raises his hand and waves at Daryl once he and Rick let go of each other, so the wolf chuffs in reply and lays across the top step. Their house is big enough to be a mansion, and the porch is spacious, but with almost all of them gathered on it, plus him, it’s beginning to feel a little crowded. He’s more than happy to leave the others to their conversations when he spots Michonne heading their way, her swords back in its rightful place and her smile bright enough to light a few of the empty houses around them. Slipping off the porch, he lopes over to her and nuzzles at her hand until she laughs and ruffles the fur at his nape.

 _You’re becoming pretty fond of contact, aren’t you?_ she teases him.

 _Ain’t like I got much choice right now, seein’ as I’m stuck like this for another few months._ He bares his teeth at her, but there’s no aggression in the action, and she knows it.

“Bob give you a date, then?”

 _‘Bout five months, give or take. Don’t know what the hell month it is right now, much less the fuckin’ day, so we’ll just say they come when they come. How’s your lapdog doin’?_ They fall into step, though he lets her walk a little bit ahead of him until she realizes what he’s doing and scoffs.

“Get up here, furball. ‘M not Rick, you ain’t gotta do that with me.”

So he walks shoulder-to-hip with the woman, the two of them wandering past the house. The rest of the pack calls out their greetings, and she responds in kind. She’s probably still on duty, though, considering that Deanna gave Rick the day off so that he could come to the appointment. He’s honestly surprised his mate is making the most of it, rather than sliding back into his constable’s jacket now that their visit with Bob is over.

 _You didn’t answer me,_ he prods after a minute.

“Hmm?”

_How’s your new steed settling in?_

“Really well. Aaron keeps pouting every time he sees him. I think he was secretly hoping that Buttons would bond with him so he could have an excuse to keep him.”

_Yeah, that weren’t no fuckin’ excuse. He was dyin’ to get his hands on that horse. You took all his fun away._

The people of Alexandria are happy to call out to them as they walk past, shouting greetings to both Michonne and Daryl, which startles the wolf. He hadn’t realized how much they’ve come to accept him, how much some of the children would love having a giant wolf to climb all over and run with. He hasn’t let them do the climbing-him-like-a-tree thing so much, but he does trot along with the younger cubs when the mood takes him, and they’re always eager to swarm him. Even Sam, Jesse’s youngest son, is coming out of his shell, although the boy seems to be more comfortable hanging around Carol.

 _Jeez, what a difference a few weeks can make,_ he mutters as he licks at his lips and whines softly.

“Yeah,” Michonne agrees quietly, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat as they turn down another street and begin making their way back toward the rest of the pack. “Hard to believe we wanted to take these people by force before we got here. I guess things really do change if you give them time.”

Daryl looks around at all of the houses they pass. Some of them have people in them. Others are still empty. Alexandria is filling up, though, slowly but surely. In a few months, he’ll have his litter, and then a few months after that, Maggie will have her baby. The house is going to be crowded, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He knows the rest of his pack feels the same, or else they would have split themselves back up between the two houses again. No matter how long they stay in this place, they will never grow apart. They’re pack, through and through, and nothing will take that from them. Not even the promise of more space.

 _I guess nightmares really do end,_ he marvels, looking up at the blue sky above them. Michonne makes a noise of agreement.

“I’m glad we woke up from ours.”

 _Yeah_ , Daryl agrees, perking up when he sees Sasha and Bob heading toward their home as well, the two of them holding hands and talking quietly to one another. He can feel their love for each other, for all of the pack, when he curls against their minds. They look over, and Sasha waves, smiling and feeling lighter than she has in too long when she nudges him playfully. _Yeah_ , he says again, looking up at Michonne and grinning. _Me too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls off to bed and curls up to nini*


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's due date draws closer, and trouble finds Alexandria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY LOOK WHAT I MADE FOR YOU GUYS. ;u;
> 
> Almost time for le birth! *flails*

“Well, don’t you look comfortable.”

Daryl cracks open one eye and looks up at Sasha, thumping his tail against the ground and sneezing when some grass tickles his nose. He’s stretched out on his side in the back yard, the sun warming his fur. Judith is tucked against his swollen belly, sleeping peacefully and smelling like raspberries and sugar, even in slumber.

 _Am fuckin’ comfortable,_ he huffs at her. She laughs and sits down beside him, leaning back against him and looking up at the trees beyond the wall. He likes that she looks so much more at ease now, after months of living in the Alexandria safe-zone and having time to work through her emotional pain over losing her brother and so many others. She’s playing with the simple golden band around her ring finger, twisting it unconsciously and seemingly drawing comfort from the weight of it.

She and Bob had mated two months previously, and the wedding the pack had thrown for them is still being talked about by most of the Alexandrians. Everyone had been invited, even Nicholas, who has taken to following Glenn around like the Asian man’s own personal awkward shadow. He’s tried so hard to redeem himself for the mistakes he’d made, but Daryl isn’t willing to forgive him yet. Tara is still alive, and has healed well from the brain trauma she’d suffered, but Noah is still dead, and it’s going to take time for the wolf to get over the cowardice the sniveling human had displayed.

“When are you due?” Sasha starts petting his side, minding Judith and doing her best not to wake the cub up. He feels like a balloon most days, because his belly is swollen to accommodate the lives growing in him and his nipples are sore as fuck because of the milk he’s going to start producing soon.

_Bob thinks it’ll be another week’re two ‘fore I have ‘em._

“So are you going to tell us how many there are?”

_Fuck no. Ain’t even figured it out ourselves, yet. Only one who knows is Bob. Rick an’ I don’ wanna know until they’re here._

His packmate pouts, so he nuzzles against her mind until she gives in and chuckles. Out of everyone, she’s the one who’s most protective of him and his unborn cubs. It had taken him by surprise at first, because he’d thought Maggie was going to be the most possessive of him aside from Rick, considering that she’s pregnant as well. It turned out to be Sasha, though, and he can’t say he minds too much.

When he smells Gabriel approaching, the wolf growls softly and turns his head to watch the priest come around the side of the house. As soon as he sees them, sees Daryl, he stops and swallows heavily, obviously hesitating. He’d been the one to marry Sasha and Bob, but he’d clearly been unhappy about it. He hasn’t accepted the wolves like everyone else has, and he’s muttered disparaging comments about Daryl and his unborn offspring more than once to people who did not take kindly to him badmouthing the archer, much to the holy man’s surprise.

“Hey, Gabe,” Sasha says coolly, her scent growing tense and angry. “Need something?”

“I was just trying to find a quiet place to read,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll find somewhere else.”

 _Asshole_ , Daryl snorts, closing his eyes and yawning. He reaches out for Rick, brushing against his mate’s mind.

_How goes the planning?_

His alpha rumbles and nuzzles against his mind in return before his presence settles over the wolf’s. _Tobin keeps wanting to cut the western side in half. Says it’s not smart to build so close to the forest. Deanna’s got my side in this, though. We’ll get there._

Drawing mostly back into his own mind, Daryl lifts his head to look at Judith when he hears the cub waking up, cooing at her and tenderly brushing his mind against hers. _Hey, baby girl. You hungry?_

“H’ng’y,” she mumbles around a yawn, patting at his sides after she rubs at her eyes. “H’ng’y, ‘Ryl.”

_C’mon, then, cub. Let’s see if we can find you something to fill your belly._

“I’ve got her,” Sasha offers, and he nods. She picks up the girl, cooing at her and kissing her forehead to try and calm her fussing. “Come on, Li’l Asskicker, let’s go get you some yogurt and cheerios.”

 _She should be ready for some firmer stuff soon, don’t ya think?_ Daryl walks beside them, keeping close so the cub can pull on his ears like she seems to love doing. He’s gotten used to it by now, and only reprimands her if she pulls too hard. _Wanna give her real meat soon._

“Might not be able to do that for a while yet. We’ll get her there, though. Soon she’ll be eating raw rabbits just like you.”

_It was opossum, get it right. Ain’t ever eaten a rabbit raw, I don’t think. Not while I wasn’t a wolf, at least._

“Oh, right, opossum. My bad.” His packmate looks at him with twinkling eyes, and he snorts at her before edging back enough so that she can enter the house first. He squeezes in after her, making a face at the way the doorjamb presses into his sides. It’s more uncomfortable than it used to be, but it’s over with soon enough, so he shakes himself off and follows his nose to find the packmates who are home. Carol is already feeding Judith a jar of baby food when he enters the kitchen, and Maggie is watching with rapt attention, like watching this will show her the proper way to feed her own baby without shoving the spoon down his throat and choking him.

Ears twitching, Daryl stops to press his nose to the woman’s belly, sniffing and wagging his tail when he smells the little boy that will be coming into the world in almost five months. _You got a name for him yet?_ he asks curiously. They'd wanted the gender to be a surprise, but had gotten too impatient and curious. He can't say he blames them.

“James Hershel Rhee,” she replies warmly, and the wolf whines happily.

_Sounds perfect._

“Pookie, tell your darling little monster that she’s supposed to _eat_ her carrots, not smear them all over herself,” Carol laughs. He bares his teeth in a wolfish grin, rumbling a laugh when he sees that the cub has indeed gotten mushed carrots all over herself.

_That’s my girl. Don’t need no damn carrots, do you, sweetling? Naw, you need you some meat._

Judith coos and slaps her hands against her highchair in response, splattering the front of Carol’s sweater with tiny flecks of orange. “’Eat,” she chirps. “’Ryl ‘eat!” The rest of it is just babble that none of them can hope to comprehend. Carol sends him a longsuffering glare.

“If you’re not going to help, then go away. She can’t just eat meat, Daryl. She needs to have a balanced diet.”

“’Eat!”

_Sounds to me like she’s made up her mind._

“Away with you,” the den mother scolds, pointing the baby spoon at him. “Don’t you have somewhere to be right now? Like _not here_?”

Still chuckling, Daryl lopes back toward the front door. He should go check in with Bob, because as his due date draws closer, the medic has started giving him ultrasounds at least once a week to make sure everything is still going as it should be. The cubs are strong and healthy, and he shouldn’t have any complications with the labor, but after losing Lori the way Rick did, he wants to make sure that everything will go exactly as it’s meant to. He doubts his alpha will be able to recover again if anything were to happen.

In the middle of the street, Daryl freezes, his ears snapping forward and his fur bristling all the way down his spine. He can hear a large vehicle approaching Alexandria on the main road, going too fast and smelling too much like danger. The snarling hiss of walkers is muted, but he remembers very well how the Governor chose to attack the prison, driving vans full of walkers in and unleashing them upon the pack. Wheeling toward the gates, Daryl starts running as fast as he can, his ears flat against his skull and his eyes glowing.

_Rick!_

The sound of gunfire startles the people who are shouting to Daryl, trying to ask what’s going on. Spencer is up in the watchtower, and he’s shooting at something. The wolf smells strangers, smells _wolves_ , and his snarl is dark and vicious as a gray female bounds around from behind Denise’s house, foam flecking her lips and blood staining her muzzle. She sees him and turns to run, but Daryl is on her too fast, his teeth ripping into her sides and shoulders while she yelps in pain and tries to kick herself free.

_Daryl, get to the pack!_

Rick’s shout is nearly drowned out by the sound of a tractor trailer truck crashing through the steeple and into Alexandria’s wall, the loud, echoing _boom_ accompanied by the triumphant howls of wolves.

 

 

 

 _You fucking knew!_ Daryl roars, his teeth bared and his eyes black, the Wild surging through him. He’s pinned Morgan in the corner of the basement they’ve taken shelter in, Carol kneeling nearby to tend to the wound on Denise’s side with efficient movements. She’s still got the red W painted on her head, her handkerchief pulled down to bunch at her throat and show the thin, tight line of her mouth. Tara is hovering and looking over her shoulder, reeking of fear and worry. _You knew what they were, what they wanted, and you fucking let them live! You did this, you stupid fuck! If_ any _of my pack dies today, I’ll rip you apart and strew yer fuckin’ entrails all over the walls fer the walkers!_

“I will not kill a man,” Morgan says calmly, gripping his staff tightly and looking like he’ll have no problem swinging it if Daryl gets too much closer. The wolf paces, snapping his teeth together and growling in a low, continuous rumble.

_Even if those men have no problem killing others? Killing innocents? What did we do to deserve this slaughter? ‘S far as I’m concerned, you’re responsible for this._

Refusing to stay still for a moment longer, the wolf heads for the stairs, intent on getting back outside and hunting down every single last motherfucking wolf who’s hunting his pack and the Alexandrians. Carol tries to call him back, but he will not be stopped. He bursts out onto the sidewalk in a ball of fury, tackling the wolf that’s running by right as he’s coming out. They fall in a tangle of snarling limbs, teeth sinking into his leg while he rips the other wolf’s ear in half, ignoring his own pain and intent on inflicting as much as he can.

 _You should be helping us!_ the beta snarls, wrenching his head to try and break bone. It leaves his throat open, though, and before he can scramble to protect his jugular, Daryl’s sinking his teeth in and ripping the darker wolf’s throat out, ignoring the blood that sprays against his muzzle and cheeks as he leaves the dying creature and slinks down the street in search of his next target. The dead are everywhere, corpses of Alexandrians and walkers alike. He takes care of them as needed, ensuring the dead stay that way and those who are reanimated meet their end by his teeth.

A howl echoes from the other side of Alexandria, and he responds to it instinctively, calling out his location to Bob as he breaks into a run, intent on getting to the black wolf as quickly as possible. He navigates the twists and turns of the streets with ease, having had months to familiarize himself with every part of Alexandria until he’s learned every shortcut and hidden lane.

Bob looms in front of him, drenched in blood with the Wild burning in his eyes just like it’s burning through Daryl. They hardly stop to sniff one another, bumping muzzles and running their jaws together to check each other before they’re surging forward as one, working together to take out anything in their path as they search for the rest of their pack.

Abraham is the first to fall in beside them, blood on his face and throat and rage in his scent as he tosses aside an empty gun and draws his knife. Michonne thunders past on Buttons, laying low against the stallion’s back with her katana dripping red and hungry for more. He knows Carl is with Judith, the two of them hiding in Daryl’s den. The teenager feels like grim determination and anger, his eyes blue chips of ice and his gun steady as he waits.

One by one, he rounds up the rest of the pack and whatever Alexandrians they can find, their numbers swelling as they gather their forces. Bob finds Eugene standing above the body of a petite tan wolf, a bloody knife in his shaking hand and a deep, fresh gash on his temple. Daryl tackles a wolf away from Maggie, who shoots it in the head without missing a beat.

 _Where the fuck are you, Rick?_ It’s a rhetorical question, though, because he knows exactly where his alpha is. As soon as the steeple had fallen the wrong way, ripping through the metal walls and letting in the walkers, his mate had made a beeline for that part of the safe-zone, Glenn hot on his heels. That’s where they are, so that’s where Daryl is going, his pack swelling around him and howling for blood, for vengeance, for _revenge_.

A wolf is waiting for them in the center of the town, sitting calmly in the center of the massacre. He looks at Daryl, his golden eyes intrigued and his nostrils flaring as he snuffles wetly. He’s big, almost as big as Merle was, and pure white. He knows, he _knows_ , that he’s looking at the alpha of the wolves he and his pack have slaughtered, and he’s furious, he’s fucking _livid_.

 _Impressive, but it will mean nothing in the end,_ the alpha says, his mind-voice tinged with the impression of a smile. _You will all die before the day is out. There is no other option. Except for you two._ He looks pointedly at Bob and Daryl. _Wolves do not belong amongst humans. You’ll come with us._

 _Oh, you fuckin’ think so?_ The archer snarls, stalking forward with Bob right beside him while the others hang back. He looks past the regal lupine, to where he feels Rick’s rage, the Wild running rampant in his mate thanks to their bond. Rick is snarling, nothing but a knife to keep him safe as he takes out walkers with a W carved into their foreheads. Glenn is shooting into the herd, his face tight and his eyes cold. _You really think you have any chance of walking away from this? Ain’t gonna fuckin’ happen. Gonna kill you, motherfucker. Gonna rip your heart out an’ feed it t’ th’ walkers. You messed with the wrong fucker today, asshole._

_Why keep them alive? They’re weak. They deserve none of your loyalty. Instead, you should give it to your own kind. We are your kin, not them._

_Tired’a yer voice. Ain’t no kin of mine, you fucking psychopath._

A sigh, and a quiet, _Very well_. That’s all the warning they’re given before the white wolf bellows and lunges. If he’s expecting Daryl’s pack to scatter like sheep, bleating in fear, he’s got another thing coming. Abraham meets the wolf’s challenge with a howl of his own, his features twisted and his eyes blazing. The rest of the pack takes up the battle cry, snarling and howling as they surge forward as one, Daryl and Bob at the front.

The wolf veers enough to meet the archer head-on, teeth clacking and fur melding as he slams bodily into the pale wolf and tries to force him back. He’s trying to use his size and his rank to make Daryl submit, and he refuses to have it. He may be a submissive wolf, may be heavily pregnant with cubs, but _like fuck_ he’s going to allow himself to be cowed by some insane juggernaut with a superiority complex.

His foe has the higher ground in terms of size, because he’s almost half a foot taller than Daryl, and longer, and heavier by almost a hundred or so pounds. He’s broad and powerful, but Daryl’s powerful too, and he’s a hell of a lot faster. His lean, wiry frame works to his advantage as he ducks and flits around his bigger opponent, who has to make wider swings and compensate for his larger bulk.

Bob dips in and out of range, snapping at the white wolf’s sides and herding him away from the rest of the pack. He and Daryl work together, their minds in-sync, as they force the alpha back toward the destroyed fence, keeping him distracted and drawing blood until his calm indifference begins to crack away and his anger rises. He snarls and lunges, clipping Daryl’s shoulder and drawing blood, but he hardly even notices through the haze of rage and the Wild roaring for him to protect what’s his.

_You think you can best me? A lowly omega and a beta? You don’t have the strength!_

_I think I’m fuckin’ sick an’ tired’a people assumin’ I ain’t worth shit, just ‘cause I take a dick up th’ ass._ Peeling his lips back from his bloodstained teeth, the pale wolf slinks closer and bites the white wolf’s flank savagely, blood welling up to stain the one-pristine fur. _Had about enough’a judgmental fucks like you preachin’ about how I ain’t more’n my rank._

“Besides,” Rick snarls, alive and with the promise of death burning in his black eyes, his skin slick with walker and wolf blood alike, the Wild in him singing to the Wild in Daryl. “Ain’t gotta be a wolf to be an alpha. Ain’t gotta be stronger, either. He’s got more power than you ever will, no matter what his biology has dictated. That’s why you’ll never be able to win. ‘Cause you fucked with his mate. You fucked with his pack, and his home. That’s why you’re gonna die today.”

The wolf lunges, roaring, and Daryl surges forward too. His teeth slide through thick fur, sinking easily into fragile flesh and muscle. He bites down, and Rick’s knife plunges into the feral wolf’s skull through his ear at the same time that he rips the wolf’s throat out. The beast dies with a gurgle, crumpling inelegantly at their feet. They share a look, and Daryl tips his head to the side to bare his throat to his alpha, rumbling and echoed by his mate when Rick reaches out to stroke his bloody fur.

“C’mon, darlin’. We’ve got things to take care of.”

_With you, alpha. Always._

 

 

 

The aftermath of the attack is a very painful time for the Alexandrians. They’ve lost a lot a people, and they hold more funerals over the next few days than they’ve probably had to hold in the entirety of their time behind the walls. They have to figure out a way to fix the damage the wolves have done, and Abraham rallies the construction crew to get the ruined tower out of the way so they can take a few sheets from the western side, where Rick had wanted to expand. His alpha doesn’t fight the decision, and spends longer than he probably should welding the new sections of wall in place while the others work on cleaning up what they can and making absolutely sure no walkers or wolves are hiding anywhere.

Daryl and Carol end up with all of the cubs, and by day three of cleanup, the pale wolf has had enough of Jesse’s oldest son, Ron. His attitude is beyond aggravating, and even Enid has snapped at him to stop being a dick.

“The fuck should I hang around with a bunch of kids and a fuckin’ wolf for?” Ron bitches, not even trying to keep his voice down. He gestures rudely at Enid, who narrows her eyes as her scent of anger intensifies. “I’m not some weak little thing that needs to be protected! I can take care of myself!”

When Daryl snaps, Carol doesn’t even try to stop him as he grabs the back of Ron’s collar and hauls the teenager toward the pile of walkers that’s been burning for two days. Tossing the pup on his ass in front of the pyre, he glares at him until the brat looks away and crosses his arms.

 _Think you can take care of yourself, do ya?_ the wolf sneers, getting right in the petulant teenager’s face and baring his teeth. _Tobin could take care of himself. Deanna could take care of herself. All these walkers that used to be people, I bet they could take care of themselves, too. They’re fuckin’ dead, and now these bastards’re burnin’. Found you cowerin’ in a fuckin’ broom closet, you stupid bitch. You wanna boast that you can take care’a yer damn self, then you’d better step th’ fuck up an’ start doin’ it. Prove it, an’ maybe you won’t be needed t’ be watched with th’ rest’a the pups. Until then, shut th’ fuck up an’ behave yer damn self._

“You’re not my dad,” Ron spits.

 _Yer right, I ain’t. Never hit’cha once, did I. Never broke a bone, or left ya scarred, an’ I sure as hell ain’t the reason ya can’t lift yer arm ‘bove shoulder level. Oh yeah,_ he rumbles when the teenager looks at him sharply. _I saw ya strugglin’ with that. You think you’re the only one who had a shitty father? Trust me, you ain’t. Got beat damn-near every fuckin’ day by my Daddy, an’ he was a wolf, too. Trust me, kid, you think a drunk Daddy’s bad? Imagine yer Daddy drunk an’ twelve-hundred pounds of ragin’ teeth and claws. You had a shit life. I get it. A lot of us’re in that same boat right now. You think ‘bout that, next time you wanna bitch. Maybe we ain’t doin’ it ‘cause we think you’re just some dumb kid—which you sure as hell’re actin’ like, right now. Maybe we’re doin’ it ‘cause we want you an’ all them other cubs to remain as innocent as we can fuckin’ keep ya, until the day we ain’t got the choice._

_World’s gone t’ shit, Ron. The dead’re walkin’, and we’re all in danger. The walls came down once already. They’ll come down again. Maybe not today, maybe not in a week, or a month, or even a year, but they will. Next time they do, maybe you’ll have gotten your head outta yer ass, an’ maybe we’ll give you a gun. Right now, though, you ain’t earned that right. So shut the fuck up, get back with the rest’a th’ cubs, and watch yer brother._

He herds the teenager back with the others, catching the look Enid gives him and flicking his ear toward the girl. He knows she doesn’t need to be protected. She was out there, just like he and his pack were. Being inside the walls is just as stressful for her as it is for Daryl, but right now he doesn’t have a choice.

“How’d your talk go?” Carol asks innocently, but he can smell her smugness.

 _Guess we’ll find out,_ he mutters, watching as Ron sits beside his brother. Sam is staring at the ground between his feet, silent and shut down. He hasn’t said a word since they found him huddled in his closet, pale and terrified. Jesse has tried to get him to say something, _anything_ , but Daryl’s pretty sure he’s catatonic from shock at the moment. Only time will get results. For now, they try to make sure he’s not left by himself, and Carol has taken to sitting with him, saying nothing, just letting him lean against her and stare at nothing.

Bob nudges against his mind, and he responds by nuzzling the black wolf’s thoughts in return. When he seeks Carol’s eyes, she’s already nodding, letting him know she’s got things under control. Judith is sleeping peacefully, and he can’t keep himself from nuzzling her small arm gently before he lopes away to find his packmate and see what he wants, although he thinks he might have some idea.

 

 

 

“Stress can make a woman go into labor early,” Bob explains as he sets up the ultrasound machine and makes sure everything is reading properly. “And I think we’ve had a very stressful few days. I just want to check you over and make sure everything’s okay.”

 _Why wouldn’t it be? Been through a hell of a lot more stress than this before,_ Daryl points out, but he lays down anyway and gives the medic access to his belly and side. Truthfully, he wants to make sure everything’s all right, too.

“You weren’t getting slammed around by a giant wolf then, and you weren’t pregnant. You took some really hard hits, Daryl. I know you did. I just want to make sure.”

_Why ain’t Rick here, then? Shouldn’t he know, too?_

“If you want to call him, be my guest. Thought you might like to find out yourself, first. Your call.”

He doesn’t reach out for Rick, not to bring his mate, at least. He curls against his mind with a nuzzle, letting him feel Daryl’s nervousness and apprehension.

_Want me there, darlin’? It’s your choice._

_Keep workin’, but stay here with me, like this? That way you’ll know, too._ He shivers when the cold gel is squeezed against his side, still not used to it even after so many times. Rick croons in his mind, calming his brief discomfort and stroking his metaphorical ears as Bob begins to press and search with the wand.

“I’m not expecting you to have any internal damage. If you even did to begin with, it’s all healed by now.” The medic frowns in concentration and angles the wand another way, pressing until Daryl growls softly from the pressure. “Sorry, sorry. Deep breaths, Daryl, you know the drill. There’s your uterus. Looks fine, to me. Let me count the heartbeats.”

 _You tell anyone yet?_ he asks, looking up at the screen and counting the rabbit-fast flutters as well, reassuring himself that they’re all still going strong.

“Told you I wouldn’t. Besides, you’d know if I had. Everything looks fine. How are you feeling otherwise?” _Anything new to report, pack brother?_ The black wolf brushes against his mind, respecting how he and Rick are curled around one another and not wanting to interrupt. His alpha untangles himself with one last nuzzle and draws away, refocusing his attention on whatever he and Abraham are working on.

_Nah. Nipples are sore, but that’s about it._

“Sore?” Bob frowns and wipes the excess gel away after turning off the machine. He hesitates until the pale wolf huffs and thumps his tail against the ground, granting permission for the medic to palpate at his sides and check his teats. It’s uncomfortable, edging into pain, but he doesn’t snap at the curious fingers pressing around each of his nipples. All he does is rumble softly, and Bob understands him perfectly fine. When he pulls back, there’s something wet on his fingers. At first, Daryl thinks it’s just more gel, but his packmate makes a soft noise and he inhales in response, and then he realizes what it is.

_You said two weeks!_

“And I just told you, stress can accelerate these things.”

_No, they can’t come yet. We’ve got too much shit we gotta take care of, Bob. It ain’t time yet._

“Relax, Daryl. Breathe,” the man rumbles, offering him support that he latches onto with a whine, reaching out for Rick’s mind as well, because he needs his alpha to feel properly grounded. His mate’s presence floods in, settling over him immediately and wrapping him up in strength and love.

_What’s got you so upset, darlin’? Everything okay? Are the pups all right?_

_‘M producin’ milk, Rick. Shouldn’t be doin’ that until a day or two ‘fore they’re supposed to come. Bob thinks the stress of the wolves’ attack is th’ reason._

_So they’re coming sooner than we’d thought?_

_Yeah._ He whines again, trying not to stress out and make things worse. He’s not ready for this yet. He thought they had two weeks to finish preparing. What the hell is he going to do if the pups come early?

_We’re ready, Daryl. Been ready for a month, darlin’, you know that. Bob says they’re healthy, and he’ll be there._

Feeling a bit too over-emotional and not even really able to blame it on hormones, Daryl calms himself down, breathing deeply and rolling his eyes a little at his own foolishness.

“It ain’t foolishness, pack brother,” Bob retorts, eyeing him sternly. “It’s perfectly understandable. You’ll be fine. We’ll all be there to help you, you know that. You’ll do fine.”

_But what if I-_

“Nope, none of that. When the time comes, instinct will take over. You’ll know what to do.”

Instinct, huh? Considering that his instincts have kept him alive for this long, have mostly kept him from dying, he supposes he can trust in them for this, too. Rick rumbles approvingly and rubs against his thoughts, melding them together in a way that makes Daryl sigh in contentment, even as he craves more.

A knock on the door heralds the arrival of Eugene. He’s probably come in to get his head checked, because he’d taken a pretty nasty hit from the wolf he’d managed to kill before he’d driven his knife into her heart. When he sees the man, Daryl rolls onto his stomach carefully and stands, his tail wagging slightly as he presses his face against his packmate’s chest and sniffs curiously.

_Doin’ all right there, Eugene?_

“As well as can be expected, with stitches in my head and the last effects of a pretty severe concussion fading,” is the reply he’s given. He cocks his head to the side and flicks an ear. “I am suffering the effects of cranial trauma, and as such have come to seek a prescription that will alleviate the symptoms until such a time as I need them again.”

_Wanna try again in English?_

“I have a headache, and I’d like some pills.”

“Coming right up,” Bob chuckles, going to the medicine cabinet. Deciding to leave them to their fun, the wolf butts his head against the medic’s side and snuffles at Eugene again before he jumps out the window and lopes around the side of the building. He heads for home, knowing that the Alexandrians will have come to relieve Carol of their children now that the day is winding down. Sure enough, the woman is on the porch with Judith when he approaches. She smiles as soon as she sees him, and he sneezes at her just to see her roll her eyes and wipe her arm off.

“You’re a real hoot, Pookie,” she mutters sarcastically. He chuffs proudly and lifts his head, getting distracted by Judith when the cub starts pulling on his lips and squishing his nose between her palms.

“’Ryl,” she coos happily.

 _Hey there, baby girl,_ he croons back, licking her cheek and ending up bathing half of her face like he usually does. She loves it just much as she always has, squealing and bouncing on Carol’s lap. _You hungry, sweetling? Maybe we can get you that can of chicken an’ peas I saw in the pantry the other day. Sound good with you?_

“Chik’n!”

“You’re incorrigible,” Carol laughs, but she’s already getting up. When Daryl turns and looks back over his shoulder at her, his golden eyes bright, she sets the cub down on his back and steadies her as they walk into the house. It’s a bit of a puzzle to figure out how to get himself and Judith through the door, and in the end Carol has to hold the squirming cub so he can get through first before she follows and sits the toddler just behind his shoulders so she can grip at his fur and kick her feet against the sides of his chest.

Rick and Abraham walk in in the middle of Carol wiping pureed chicken and peas off of her face. Daryl’s got some on his head and ears, huffing disgruntledly as he licks another glob of the baby food off the side of his muzzle. At least they manage to coax Judith to eat the majority of it this time, rather than ending up with more food on her than in her.

 _See, you’ll do just fine when the cubs come_ , his mate murmurs happily. Daryl huffs at him.

_She’s just one cub, and she’s turnin’ into a little hellion. Ain’t got a damn clue how you think mush everywhere is the proper way to feed a baby._

_I ain’t the one influencing her and letting her get away with things,_ Rick points out. He’s grinning when he pushes off of the wall and comes over, picking up the towel Carol had been using and folding it to a clean portion so he can start wiping the baby food out of Daryl’s fur.

_Bullshit. You do it just as much as the rest of us._

“Yeah, okay, maybe I do.”

“There is no maybe,” Carol snorts, shaking her head. “God have mercy on any boy she brings home to meet you two. No one is going to be good enough for your baby girl. You’ll greet them with a shotgun.”

_Nah, I’ll say hello with my crossbow. Rick’ll meet ‘em with his gun. We’ll make ‘em drink lemonade while we clean the knives. It’ll be a good time. If anyone our baby girl is interested in can’t handle bein’ around weapons, they ain’t good enough for Li’l Asskicker._

“Somehow I don’t think it’s the weapons that will be the problem.” Abraham steps back from the fridge with a bottle of water already half-way to his grinning mouth. “She’s gonna be the most miserable teenager, what with you two and the rest of the pack breathin’ down the neck of any boys or girls who show too much interest. She’s gonna slam doors and hate all of us.”

_Just so long as she’s breathing while she’s hatin’ us, I don’t give a fuck._

Michonne walks in at that point, already shaking her head fondly. “You are all horrible people,” she chuckles.

_Please, like you ain’t gonna be in the corner glowering an’ sharpenin’ your katana._

“Oh, I never said that.”

Daryl watches her steal the bottle of water from Abraham, turning his head to look at Rosita when she comes sauntering into the room. He hasn’t seen much of her lately, because she’s joined Glenn and Tara on runs with Nicholas. She smiles at him when she sees him looking, coming over to rub his ears and pet down his spine.

“You think of any names, yet?” she asks curiously.

_Way too many. Guess it just depends on what I have._

“True, true. When are you due again?”

 _Bob thinks the stress from the wolves’ assault has jumped up the date, so any time now, I guess. He checked, an’ I’m producin’ milk, which is a big indictor._ He shifts nervously, laying his ears back, but can’t stay distressed for long. Not with the scent of his pack filling his nose as the rest of them pile into the kitchen. Everyone is sore, and tired, and most of them are in need of showers, but they’re all still alive, all still together. Maggie looks a little pale and tired, and he knows losing Deanna is weighing heavily on her. It’s weighing on Rick, too, but his alpha is strong, and he’s got their support, so he’s not struggling on his own. Neither is Maggie, and she smiles when Daryl presses his nose against her side and inhales. His tail wags at the combination of nutmeg and vanilla, with a little hint of ferns and cedar from Glenn. Their mate-scent is an interesting blend, but it’s theirs, so it’s perfect.

Rick lays a hand between his ears, and he looks up at his mate, curling their minds together and sinking into his alpha’s thoughts with the ease of coming home, the Wild stirring in response to his mate’s presence but not burning him. Its warmth has become a comfort to him, something that only Rick can bring out, and he feels the answering echo from the man as he closes his eyes and presses his head against the strong chest, breathing in the scent of deep forests and life.

It reminds him of Georgia, which is fitting, he thinks, because Rick has become his home.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cubs are born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO. But no seriously sorry for the lack of updates. Worked all weekend, and I started writing this last night, as well as a few other updates for stories, and my brain was like NOPE. BED. But I got a good amount of sleep and now I'm RARIN' TO FUCKIN' GO. FUCK YEAH.
> 
> CUBS. 
> 
> AND PORN. BUT NOT AROUND THE CUBS. SO YEAH.
> 
> I feel like this is drawing to a close, soon. At least this 'part'. I've already got an idea in mind for a sequel, because god, my brain just cannot give me any peace, can it. That, and werewolf!Daryl makes me so fucking happy it's ridiculous.
> 
> ENJOY. *scampers away*

Daryl curls around the four squirming newborn pups as they wriggle and suckle, nursing for the first time while he grooms them. He’s crooning and yipping softly, teaching them his call so they’ll always be able to find one another, no matter what. Their own grunts and squeaks are already lodged firmly in his mind the way his own has been imprinted in theirs. He’s absolutely exhausted, but seeing his cubs— _his_ cubs—makes the long hours of labor worth it. He’d done it on his own, too, his instincts driving him to throw everyone out of the den when he’d realized the time had come and they’d tried to pile in. Rick had fought to stay, but Bob had managed to persuade him otherwise. The medic had stayed close, soothing Daryl as well as the alpha, and ready to jump in if he was needed.

He hadn’t been. Daryl rolls his tongue over the head of his only girl cub, yipping softly and whining when she squeak-grunts in response, still nursing strongly and kneading at his belly to help his milk flow. She’s got his same pale gray coat, with the promise of darker markings around her shoulders and hips.

She’s beautiful.

 _Bethany Jade,_ Rick murmurs, curled around and over Daryl’s mind since he can’t curl beside his body. _Bethany Jade Dixon-Grimes._

 _Our own little Beth,_ the pale wolf croons, his tail wagging. He nudges the smallest male, who squeaks unhappily at being disturbed. The pup’s coat is a mixture of dark gray and brown that he already knows will lighten as he grows. _How about him? Was thinkin’… Was thinkin’ Noah?_

_Noah Alexander. Sounds perfect to me._

Daryl whines happily, pleased and bursting with well-deserved pride and no small amount of love as he turns to look at the other two male cubs. They’ve got identical tawny coats, and the only reason he can tell them apart is because one of them is nursing peacefully while the other squirms and fusses. All four of them smell like cub-scent and milk-scent, with the fading tang of blood and birthing fluids. He knows their personal scents will develop and strengthen over time, each one unique to them specifically.

_What about them?_

_Connor,_ he suggests, nudging the more active cub. _Connor Jacob._

_How about Caelean for the last boy, then? They look like twins to me, and at least it doesn’t rhyme. What do you think, darlin’? Caelean Theodore._

_‘S a mouthful, but I like it. Get in here, alpha. You gotta see ‘em._

Rick needs no other prompting, slipping through the door and shutting it in Glenn’s face firmly when the Asian tries to peek in as well. Daryl chuffs out a laugh, nudging his packmate’s mind and promising him that they’ll get to come in soon. Right now, though, this is just for him and his mate, who is already on his knees and rumbling happily as he strokes the pale wolf’s head and ears. It feels so nice, the touch gentle and relaxing. He whines and licks his alpha’s palms, butting his head against them.

“God, darlin’, they’re all so beautiful,” the man breathes reverently. “All of ‘em wolves, too. Was hopin’, but I wasn’t sure.”

 _Big an’ strong an’ healthy_ , he agrees, and together they look at their cubs, their minds melding as they share their joy between each other. _Gonna grow up t’ be forces t’ be reckoned with, I bet. ‘Cept her._ He nudges Beth tenderly, licking down her spine. She’s finished nursing and is already asleep, curled up against his hind legs. They’re all still blind and deaf for the most part, and he already can’t wait to see what colors their eyes are. _She’s gonna be th’ peacemaker, I bet._

One by one, the rest of the litter falls asleep, their bellies bulging from their meal. He cleans them thoroughly, his ears straining to pick up every whine and muffled squeak as they all end up piled nearly on top of one another against his belly. He reaches out, fluttering against Bob’s mind, and the medic slips into the room after a moment to check them over.

“Congratulations, Daryl,” the black wolf hums as he carefully handles each pup. Connor and Caelean are the biggest, but they probably don’t weigh more than two pounds apiece. He knows they won’t stay this tiny for long, and he’s already anticipating them all growing in leaps and bounds, running through Alexandria and raising hell, because they’ve got Dixon in them, so of course they’re going to be handfuls, but they’ve got Grimes in them, too, so everyone is going to adore them anyway. “They all look pretty healthy to me. Not a vet, but I’ve done all right with you, I think.”

“Daryl Dixon, are you ever going to let us in to see our newest family members?” Carol calls through the door, sounding impatient and eager. The minds of the pack push against his, nuzzling and begging, and for a moment he’s overwhelmed by their excitement, laying his ears back and whining until they ease up and stop making such a racket. He looks at Bob, who nods the all clear, and then barks softly and welcomes the rest of his family in.

Maggie is the first one through the door, unsurprisingly, a hand resting on her swollen belly and her eyes already sparkling with tears. “Oh, just look at ‘em,” the woman coos, reaching back to grab Glenn’s hand and drag him forward so he can see better. There’s a light in her eye when she looks at her mate, and Daryl rumbles in amusement when she says, “We’re gonna have our own brood, right, Mr. Rhee?” The look of apprehension and mingled horror on Glenn’s face is hilarious.

“Let’s just see how it goes with the one we’re gonna be havin’ now,” he suggests. “I think these four, plus Judith and James, when he comes, are gonna be more than enough.”

“They’re beautiful, Pookie,” Carol croons as she kneels beside him and pets his head. She reaches out and touches each pup in turn, feeling their soft fur and looking so in love already. He can see her den mother instincts roaring to life again, her purpose cemented by the four new lives she’s going to help take care of. “What are their names?”

 _Beth_ , he says, nudging his baby girl and smelling the flood of joy-scent from more than one packmate. _Noah,_ he adds, and Tara and Glenn’s scents spike with sorrow and mingled happiness, smelling like tea and cypress and boggy swamps. _An’ these two’re Connor and Caelean. We think they’re gonna be twins._

“Double the trouble,” Abraham chuckles, looking smug and proud like he’s the father instead of Rick. He can’t compare to the level of pride and love that Daryl’s mate has reached, bouncing Judith and letting her use his hands to pull herself up to stand while he looks between her and the cubs.

“Look, Judy, you’ve got a new sister, and some brothers,” he croons, and she squeals happily as Daryl lovingly nuzzles against her side. She doesn’t quite understand, he thinks, but he knows she will. She’s old enough to, now, they just hadn’t had the time to really work with her on things before coming to Alexandria. They’ve got the time now, though, and she’s proving to be a fast learner.

Carl lays across the floor so the cubs are between him and Daryl, petting them so gently, like they’re fragile glass and they’ll shatter if he’s not careful. He smells like pop rocks and green things, positively beaming. There is no better older brother than Carl Grimes, and the wolf already knows that he will do whatever he has to in order to make sure his siblings are safe from anything and everything.

One by one, the rest of the pack touches the pups, laying their scents over the tiny bodies in a way that marks them as family even if they’re not all doing it instinctively. Daryl watches, tired and fond, his head on Rick’s lap. Any words that need to be said are whispered against minds, thoughts blending until they’re no longer a room full of individual minds, but one cohesive pack-mind. They don’t break apart this time, and no one leaves. They all find spots to curl up on the floor, not at all uncomfortable with the fact that maybe the room Daryl has turned into his den isn’t exactly big enough for all of them when one of them is an enormous wolf. They make it work, though, refusing to do otherwise. Tara ends up pressed against Eugene’s side, and Rosita is almost completely on top of Abraham. Sasha’s curled up in the corner closest to Daryl’s head, using Bob as her pillow, and Glenn is leaning against the wall beneath the window so Maggie can use him to support herself more comfortably. They fall asleep slowly, their minds all still connected, and Daryl whines happily as he looks at his pack, and at his cubs, and then up at Rick, who meets his gaze with storm-blue eyes and a smile that he’d never thought any Dixon would have aimed their way, least of all him.

 _Love you, darlin’_ , his mate rumbles as he leans down to press a kiss to the side of the wolf’s muzzle. _Sleep now. You deserve it. We’re all here. Ain’t nothin’ that’s ever gonna be able to hurt them. Go on, Daryl. Dream sweet for me._

 _Always do, alpha,_ he murmurs, nuzzling against his mate’s stomach and sighing; welcoming the tendrils of slumber he can already feel creeping across his mind. _Always do._

 

 

 

The pups grow. Daryl hardly leaves them unless it’s to eat or relieve himself, and then he’s right back in the room, nosing at them to check that they didn’t suffer a horrible catastrophe while he was gone for those two minutes it took to do whatever it was he needed to do. He knows this overprotectiveness will fade with time, but right now he’s a new parent—a _new parent, Jesus fucking Christ_ —and every little sniffle or distressed whine from his cubs garners more of a panic-response than it probably should. Rick does his best to help him, soothing his nerves, and he leans against his alpha’s strength gratefully. The man has already done this twice, and hell, Daryl was there for the second time. They all were. It was just Judith then, though, and now there are _four_ cubs he has to keep an eye on.

Connor is never satisfied unless he’s wriggled his way into a corner or under the blankets, vocalizing loudly as he does so. Caelean is content to explore as much as he’s able to _peacefully_ , hardly making a sound aside from a coo or a whine. The twins smell like the mountains of Georgia, like black walnut and pine trees and crisp, snow-fed streams. Beth smells like lemony citrus, and it reminds him so much of magnolia blossoms and a young girl with so much strength it took his breath away. She’s the next fussiest after Connor, and eager to explore even if she can’t see. Little Noah smells like loamy earth and poplar trees, and he never seems to be happy unless he’s curled up against Daryl’s side, or in Rick’s lap. He wonders if the little cub is an omega, but it’s still too soon to tell.

Daryl is so focused on making sure that none of them die that he nearly has a heart attack when he looks at Beth one morning and sees unfocused blue eyes cracking open slowly to look back at him. Rick’s there before he realizes it, responding to the flare of shock against his mind, and when he sees his little girl looking back at him, he smells like cinnamon and apple pie, so much love and joy that it takes the archer’s breath away.

Not to be outdone by his sister, Connor is the next to open his eyes. Their ears are already open as well, twitching in response to every sound. They still can’t get around very easily, but they give it their best shot on stumpy little legs and paws that are less and less uncoordinated with every passing day. Caelean copies his twin, and opens his eyes next. By the end of the day, all four cubs can see, for the most part, and Daryl looks at four sets of blue, blue eyes that look back at him, curling his mind oh-so-carefully against theirs. They’re a mess of half-formed emotions and wants, with no real words yet, but he knows that’ll change soon.

“God, look at them,” Rick murmurs as he cradles Connor against his chest and pets the cub’s ears. It’s the only time the little menace will ever be still, when his father is holding him. He’s going to turn Daryl’s muzzle silver before he’s even two. “What color do you think their eyes are gonna be?”

_Dunno. ‘S hard to say, since none of ‘em have shifted yet. I smell it in them. They’re Wild, obviously, and Bob says when they’re ready to shift, they will. Merle used to tell me I came out as a human baby and couldn’t even wait five seconds ‘fore I had to be a wolf pup. Was wonderin’ if any of ‘em would be that way. Bob thinks the form they keep is influenced by the form the mother takes. My mom was human, so I was born human. I’m wolf, so they are, too. Guess that kind’a logic applies here, too, even though I ain’t female._

“That you are not,” he mate agrees, looking him up and down slowly with heated eyes. “Not gonna lie though, darlin’, I can’t wait to see your human body again. There’s a list of things that I’m planning on doing to you, and I’m gonna enjoy every single one of them. You will too, I reckon.”

God yes, please. It’s been so long since he’s physically had Rick inside of him that he’s amazed he’s not ripping things apart. Their mental matings have been wonderful, and have strengthened their already-formidable bond to near unheard of levels, but it’s not the same as physically having sex, and Daryl is aching for some hard, wonderful fucking.

_Give ‘em another week or so, an’ maybe then we can see ‘bout that. You’d better hold up to yer promise, farmer Grimes._

 

 

 

Noah, surprisingly, is the first one to speak.

 _Hungry,_ he whines at Daryl as soon as he’s woken up. When the pale wolf’s head snaps around in shock, he repeats the cry until he’s almost howling it as he stumbles forward and searches for a nipple.

 _Hush, baby boy_ , he croons, using his muzzle to help guide the pup. _C’mon, eat yer fill. That’s it._ He winces when Noah is a little too harsh with his teeth, rumbling softly and giving him a gentle reprimanding nip. The rest of the litter is stirring as well, thoughts jumbled and as fast as their heartbeats until they’re mostly conscious and nuzzling across the blankets in search of breakfast.

Connor bites at Beth when she tries to wriggle in front of him. _Mine_ , he huffs, squeaking indignantly, and she bites him back with a warbling growl. In two weeks, they’ve all nearly tripled in size, and he’s gotten a lot more relaxed about slipping out to do other things. Hell, sometimes he just needs a moment to breathe, because for so long he could do that whenever he wanted, but now he has four lives to take care of, and it’s all a little overwhelming sometimes. The pack has stepped up just like they did when Judith was born, although as the den mother Carol is the one there the most. The rest of the pack comes by as much as they can, holding the cubs and cooing over them, offering to give him a second to just go out back and kill a rabbit or lay in the sun.

As if his thoughts have summoned her, Carol opens the door and comes in with Carl right behind her. Never has there been a big brother more dedicated to his younger siblings than Carl Grimes. The teenager loves nothing more than to lay on his belly and let the cubs tug on his clothes and his hair. He loves it, loves being able to play with them—so gently, so carefully—and pet their fur. Connor has taken it upon himself to claim the right to sleep on the boy’s back, but he can’t quite figure out how to get up himself, so he still needs a little assistance.

The cubs have already started working out their own pecking order, and just like he’d figured, the tawny cub with the big mouth is at the top. Beth is next, surprisingly, because he’d thought Caelean would follow his brother’s footsteps and try to be a leader, but his gentle-natured cub is perfectly happy to wait his turn if he has to, and not at all interested in fighting or biting. Even Noah is more likely to nip at the others if he’s unhappy.

“I think it’s time you had a break that was longer than ten minutes.” Carol’s voice startles him out of his musings, and he looks at her questioningly. “Daryl, you need to get out and stretch your legs. You need to shift, now that you can. They’re big enough that they can be without you for a while, and Carl and I will be here. Once they’re done feeding, we’ll take over. So go, Pookie. Go enjoy yourself. I know a certain constable who’s been itching to see you.” Her eyes are twinkling, and even Carl, who is making a properly disgruntled face, smells too much like calmness and urging for him to protest. As soon as the cubs are fed, their bellies round and their eyes trained on the pack members, Daryl slips away.

He shifts as soon as he’s in the bedroom, groaning happily and running his hands through his hair. God, that feels so good. It takes him a moment to coordinate himself, because even when he was feral and running around the mountains back home as a wolf, he’d never been one for this long. As soon as he’s got his bearings, he heads for the shower to give himself a proper wash. His belly is a little softer than it was, but he knows that he’ll be toned and firm like before in no time, so he doesn’t pay too much attention to it. What he _does_ focus on is finding his mate, reaching out to curl against Rick’s mind and coax him closer with a soft, breathy moan that makes his alpha’s presence surge against his own, hot and possessive when it curls around him.

_On your knees, darlin’. Wait for me._

He drops a little too quickly, his knees smarting, but he doesn’t care. He’s already panting, so desperate he feels like he’s not getting enough oxygen as he tilts his head forward and lets his hair fall around his face, the water chasing away the last of the suds. Distantly, he hears the downstairs door slam, and he groans when his alpha’s scent tickles his nose as the man hurries up the stairs and down the hall. No one else is home, it’s just them, and Carol and Carl, and the cubs.

Rick smells like deep woods and rut-scent when he shuts and locks the door, the sound of his clothes hitting the floor almost drowned out by the noise that escapes Daryl’s mouth when he breathes in the combination of his mate’s lust and love. He’s already leaning forward, bracing his hands against the wall, but he’s stopped by a low, rumbling growl.

“Turn around, darlin’. Let me get a good look at you. Been so fuckin’ long.”

He turns, looking his naked, dripping wet mate up and down. Rick’s cock is already hard and flushed, his fingers tight around the girth of it like he’s got to hold himself back or he’ll come all over Daryl’s face. And _fuck_ , the bolt of desire and need that sends through the archer makes him gasp and lunge forward. Rick barely gets his hand out of the way in time, his cock sliding all the way down Daryl’s throat until his lips are stretched around the base, his nose buried in wet curls and his eyes fluttering closed as he moans around his mouthful and starts bobbing and sucking frantically.

“Shit!” Rick grabs his wet hair, guiding his movements as he takes his mate’s cock down his throat again and again, swallowing repeatedly so his muscles flutter and tighten. He ignores his own cock, reaching behind himself for his empty, aching hole instead. One finger makes him keen, his eyes rolling back in his head and his hips bucking before he’s grinding back onto two fingers, unwilling and unable to wait because it’s been _too fucking long_.

“God, darlin’, look at you gaggin’ yourself on my cock. ‘S been too fuckin’ long, Daryl. Want me to cum on your face? You’d look so pretty, painted up and marked.”

Daryl whines, fucking himself with three of his fingers and needing more, needing _Rick._ He finally pulls back after one last suckle, ripping away and gasping for breath. His jaw aches, unused to such fervent action after so long, but he doesn’t care. They’re lucky the shower stall is so big, but it’s not big enough for what he really wants. For that, he scrambles to his feet and lets himself be hauled into a rough, dirty kiss, moaning when Rick bites at his sore, swollen mouth and sucking on his mate’s tongue before he’s out into the cooler air of the bathroom and dropping to his knees again.

“C’mon,” he begs, fisting his hands in the towel and the mat and lowering his torso, presenting himself and grinding his forehead into rough terrycloth as Rick takes a moment to admire the picture he makes—face down and ass up, loosened hole clenching around nothing when it should be stretched around _something_.

“Bite the towel, darlin’. Gonna have you howlin’ for me before we’re done.”

The archer obeys, stuffing as much of it in his mouth as he can without choking when Rick mounts him, already biting at the back of his neck. He’s got himself braced with one hand on the floor, the other gripping Daryl’s hip hard enough to bruise. When his mate pushes forward, there’s hardly any resistance, the slide smooth, so he must have used something. Eyes rolling back in his head, he sobs at the feeling of finally being filled again, clawing at the fabric beneath him and fucking back to get his mate the rest of the way inside. Rick nails his prostate on the first try, angling himself the right way and making the archer’s vision white out. He’s amazed he hasn’t come yet, his cock leaking so much he’s dripping, a small puddle of pre-cum already soaking into the towel beneath him.

_C’mon, c’mon, fuck me. Been too fuckin’ long, need ya t’ do it. Need you alpha, you gotta fuck me. Make me feel it, make it so I’m fuckin’ limpin’ and I can’t sit down._

“Gonna fuck you ‘til you pass out, darlin’,” his mate promises darkly, letting go of his neck just long enough to force the words out before he’s biting at the scar again, canines digging in, and starts moving.

Jesus fucking Christ, nothing can compare to the feeling of Rick inside of him, the slide smooth but still enough of a drag, enough friction, to have Daryl bucking and keening as he tries to keep his alpha inside of him. He doesn’t want him to leave at all, his eyes blurring and drool somehow managing to leak from the sides of his mouth when his mate presses inside of him the whole way and rolls his hips repeatedly, grinding in so deep and hitting right where he needs him to, the constant pressure against his prostate making him writhe and bite down on his gag to try and further muffle the indecent noises that are spilling from him unbidden.

When Rick pulls _out_ , he frees his mouth and snaps his head back over his shoulder, glaring. “Rick, what the _fuck_ -” His words are cut off when he’s flipped over, his back hitting the cushioned tiles hard enough that it still hurts as his mouth is taken in a bruising, possessive kiss, his mate’s tongue fucking in again and again, pulling back before he can latch on and suck the way he’s desperate to. He spreads his legs, bracing a calf on Rick’s shoulder when prompted, and bites the man’s lip hard enough to draw blood when he slams back inside and nails the perfect angle in a way he couldn’t seem to the other way. Like this, he feels so much bigger, so much _deeper_ , and Daryl goes wild for it, his blood burning and his clean skin filthy with sweat and pre-cum as it puddles on his stomach.

_Yes, yes, alpha, please, please fuck me, c’mon, you gotta. Feels so fuckin’ good, c’mon, come in me. Fill me ‘til I can’t hold anymore an’ it’s dripping out._

_Fucking Christ, darlin’, the mouth on you. God, you love this so much. Never would’a guessed you’d get so desperate for a hard cock in your hungry hole, but just look at you._ They can’t even kiss properly anymore. They’re just panting into each other’s mouths, Rick’s tongue still thrusting into his own and curling behind his teeth. His mouth is throbbing, his whole body arching and his heel digging into his mate’s shoulders, the other leg wrapped around Rick’s waist to get them even closer, despite the fact that they’re as close as they can get.

_Bet you’d love it if I found something to plug you up with, wouldn’t you? You’d always be ready for me, then, still wet with my cum ‘cause it’d be trapped in you. All I’d have to do would be pull the plug out and slide right on inside, fuck you like you love it and fill you some more. And then afterwards, you’d get plugged up again. Would be a nice one, one you’d feel everywhere with every step. Would have to get you somethin’ for your cock, too, huh darlin’? Can’t have you comin’ whenever you want. You do that enough anyway. No, I wouldn’t let you until I was good and ready. Wonder what that would do to you._

“Fuck, fuck, please, yes, want it,” he whines, guttural and low as he throws his head back and cracks it against the floor. The pain is a distant thing, though, because he’s too consumed by his heat and his need and the feeling of his mate’s cock grinding right into his prostate, giving him no relief, just blinding pleasure that’s edging into the best kind of pain. He tries to grab his cock, tries to cum, but Rick gets there first and tightens his fingers in a way that emulates the cock ring he’d just been talking about. “No! No please, I need to, you hafta let me, Rick, _please_.”

“When I feel like it, darlin’,” the man growls, deep and low and just like the alpha Daryl knows he is. He keens, wrapping an arm around his mate’s neck and hiding his face in his damp throat, licking up the sweat and sucking little marks all over the front. He bites at his alpha’s adam’s apple, both legs wrapped around the man’s waist as he tilts his hips to welcome each delicious slam. He’s fucking his cock into Rick’s hold, clawing at him and whimpering brokenly as he tries to achieve the release he can feel just out of reach.

“Please, please alpha, I need it, need ta cum. Been so good for you, been so good. Ain’t been able t’ have this. Rick, _please_.” He’ll care about how he’s begging later, when he’s not so out of his mind that he wants to throw back his head and howl. He can’t even hold on to Rick anymore, sprawling back and baring his throat; accepting the fingers that slide into his open, panting mouth and suckling on them as a few drops of moisture run down the sides of his face. God, he’s never been on edge like this for so long, never been fucked so hard without coming at least _once_.

“One more time, Daryl. Let me hear it one more time.”

_Please, alpha. Wanna cum. Wanna be filled with you. Want you to plug me up so it stays, jus’ like you said. C’mon, alpha, please. Fill me. Fuck me. **Fuck me**._

“That’s my good omega.” Rick strokes once up Daryl’s cock, the slide easy because he’s so fucking wet, and he bites down on his alpha’s fingers so hard he tastes blood, his entire body jolting like he’s been shot as he paints his belly and chest with his own cum, clenching down on the cock inside of him and jolting again as more pleasure ripples through him, feeling like it’s being carved directly out of his marrow. He feels his alpha’s cock throbbing and twitching inside of him as he fills the archer, just like he promised he would. Daryl whines, overstimulated and aching, when his mate slides out of him and his cum follows. Rick’s quick to slide his fingers inside, though, keeping him full and trapping it inside. He sighs happily, swallowing the blood he’s drawn and licking gently at the wounds his teeth have caused until the fingers slide out and Rick’s tongue curls in. They kiss and lick and nuzzle at each other, crooning and rocking together slowly. His muscles burn, but it’s a good kind of hurt, a well-fucked kind of ache that makes him smile and lay his head back, giving Rick his throat and shuddering when blunt teeth nip at his adam’s apple.

“Fuck, Daryl, you’re somethin’ else.” A hand pets across his chest and down his abdomen, smearing his cum and leaving little streaks of blood to mix with it. His other hand is still between the archer’s legs, fingers pumping slowly in and out until they finally withdraw and rub his hot, gaping rim to try and ease some of the pain. Rick has made good on his promise, and Daryl’s request—he’s going to have trouble sitting down for a bit, and he’s definitely going to be limping.

“So’re you,” he sighs happily, blindly searching for his mate’s mouth until they can kiss again. After a few licks and nibbles, he pushes the man away and gets a good look at them, his eyes sparkling when he sees the mess they’ve made. “Definitely gonna need to shower again. Need a fuckin’ steak, too, an’ then I wanna get back. Still don’t like leavin’ ‘em fer too long.”

“Agreed. C’mon, darlin’. Let’s get ourselves fit for delicate constitutions.”

They shower again, and Daryl lets Rick clean him off, rumbling contentedly as his alpha tenderly washes him and checks over every bite and bruise to make sure he’s not irreparably damaged. He’s not, but the care feels so nice, so unlike anything he’d ever thought to expect for himself, that he just leans forward and lets his alpha pamper him, just a little. When he tries to return the favor, tries to clean Rick off as well, his alpha puts a hand on his chest and gives him a look that is impossible to ignore. He stands and watches, biting his lip, as his mate washes himself, putting on a little show until the wolf growls, his Wild blood heating.

Clean, they step out and dry off, throwing the filthy towel into the hamper and hanging the damp ones on the back of the door. Rick leads him into the bedroom, dressing him in soft, well-worn sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt that he doesn’t remember seeing before. It smells like his mate, like cinnamon with a hint of forests, and he can’t help it when he presses a cuff to his nose and sniffs.

Sasha is in the kitchen, and the look she gives them makes Daryl want to turn and walk right the fuck out, because yeah, they’d been loud, and he has no idea when she got back, so there’s no way she didn’t hear them. He’s a Dixon, though, and he’s not ashamed of how much he enjoys his mate, so he gives her a look right back, his lip curling.

“What?” he barks, but unlike before, there’s no anger or threat in the word. He’s not going to beat her to a pulp for teasing him, not going to sputter and react with aggression like he once would have. Instead, he looks her up and down and he smirks, hands on his hips as Rick digs through the fridge. “Don’t even look at me like that, woman. Like we ain’t all heard you an’ Bob goin’ at it.”

“Yeah, yeah, turn it back on me. Didn’t know you were such a screamer, Daryl,” she teases him, and he huffs as he crosses his arms, shoulders slowly inching toward his ears. He might not pummel her, but too much attention aimed his way, even by his packmates and even in fun, still makes him uncomfortable. She knows it, they all do, so she smiles and makes a show of looking him up and down. There’s nothing in the action that reminds him of how Rick does it. “Gotta say, I never thought I was going to see you like this again. You look good, Daryl. Ready to sleep for a week, but still good.” Her eyes flick toward the ceiling, toward the den and the cubs, and she smells sweet like pears. “They doin’ okay?”

“Yeah. Carol and Carl are with ‘em. Just gonna get somethin’ ta eat and go back to ‘em. Wanna see what they do when I ain’t a wolf.” Will they shift, too, or will they stay as cubs? He’s eager to find out, and he digs into the chunk of venison Rick places in front of him with gusto. It’s cold, but it’s still good, the outside cooked but the inside still raw enough, just the way he likes it. He offers his mate a few bites, shuddering when the man licks his fingers clean afterwards, and shoves at him with a huff. If Sasha notices that he’s sitting more on his hip than his ass, or that he’d been limping when they’d walked in, she says nothing.

Once his belly is full, he licks the last of the juices from his fingers and eases off of his stool, leaving the plate for now because he’s eager to get back to his litter. His alpha feels the same way, his mind shivering with anticipation as he follows the pale wolf back up the stairs. “Easy, darlin’,” he murmurs when Daryl tries to go too fast and winces, and the archer growls at him; bites at him when he tries to steady him.

“Ain’t a fuckin’ wilting violet,” he bitches. “’S yer fault, anyway, Grimes. Leave me be. Can do it my damn self.”

“The fault lies in both of us, because I happen to recall you _asking_ for this. Up with you, darlin’. We’ve got kids to get back to.”

“Where’s Judith, anyway?” he asks, choosing to ignore his alpha’s playful words as he hurries the rest of the way. “Ain’t seen her all day.”

“The old folks have kidnapped her again, and are probably plying her with sugar and sweets at this very moment. So she’s going to be hyper as all hell when she gets back. Better be ready.”

“Always am when it comes to our Li’l Asskicker.” Pushing open the door, he smiles at the chorus of whines and puppyish barks that greets them. The cubs are in the process of climbing all over Carl, who is still a little pink in the face and smells like fading embarrassment when he looks at them. Daryl feels his own cheeks flush in response, but there’s no anger or disgust clinging to the teenager, so he figures there’s no reason for him to turn tail and run.

 _Alpha!_ A chorus of frenetic mental voices batters at Daryl and Rick, making him wince because none of them have learned the value of volume control yet. Four chubby little bodies wriggle and stumble their way over, Connor in the lead. The tawny pup growls and tugs on his sweatpants, sharp teeth pinching his skin until he rumbles in warning. Then they’re all gathering around Rick, whining and yelping as they greet their alpha father.

“Hello, sweetlings,” the man croons, kneeling to give them all his love and attention. Daryl sits cross-legged to watch, nodding to Carol when she catches his attention. She slips from the room, murmuring something about getting Judith back from the neighbors. Noah breaks away first, crawling over to him and nuzzling his knee.

 _Papa,_ he sighs happily, and Daryl’s heart damn near fucking bursts as he pulls his smallest cub into his lap and holds him, burying his face into soft, dark fur and breathing in cub-scent and the smell of poplar and rich soil.

 _Cub_ , he rumbles, licking between the little ears and not even caring that he’s not a wolf to do so. Noah shifts in his arms, whining in pain as he does so, but then it’s over and he’s holding a naked baby that’s blinking up at him with eyes that rival the clearest ocean, a little tuft of dark blonde hair on his head that Daryl nuzzles with a whine. Noah doesn’t seem to like his human form, his chubby little face scrunching up, and then he’s whining again as he shifts back and the archer’s arms are full of squirming fur and sharp teeth again. The blue is slowly fading from their eyes as they days pass, their permanent iris colors starting to show through. It’s not enough for him to tell yet what color their wolf eyes will be, but it’s not something that even really matters. They’re his cubs, and he’s going to love them no matter what.

All of the excitement has tired them out, and he knows they’re probably getting hungry again, so the archer sets Noah down gently, soothing his unhappy grumble with gentle pets before he pulls his clothes off and shifts. As soon as he lays down, the rest of the litter abandons Rick and comes waddling over to nuzzle against his belly and start feeding. He grooms them all, crooning and nuzzling them one by one, while Rick lays on his side with their cubs between them, curled so he can rest his head on Daryl’s paws and stroke his soft, pale fur.

 _Love you, darlin’_ , he whispers, pressing his face against the wolf’s throat when he tilts his head for him. _Love them._

 _Yours, alpha_ , he promises, the words rough but sure as he looks at his family, as he reaches out with his mind to feel them as well as the rest of his pack. _Always._


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life in Alexandria is never dull, that's for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JFC you guys. It's done. It's done and I'm feeling the feels so hardcore right now.
> 
> This was never supposed to be this long. Literally, I started out and I was like 'Oh, maybe I can make it at least six chapters, and get about twenty thousand words or so; it'll be great' and then this thing fucking exploded in a way I had never expected it to.
> 
> To each and every one of you who supported me, and supported this story, and even those of you who couldn't finish it because it went in a direction you weren't happy with, thank you. Thank you for your words, and your thoughts. Thank you for loving this show, and loving this story and these characters. Thank you, you beautiful darlings, for being who you are, and for putting up with my rambling and my craziness.
> 
> I love all of you.

_Five years later…_

 

“Conner Dixon-Grimes, you get back here right now!”

Daryl looks up from the rabbit he’s in the middle of gutting, letting out a longsuffering sigh and already standing. He heads toward the shouting, having a pretty good idea of what he’ll find when he locates his misbehaving child. Sure enough, Connor is running down the middle of the street, his blue eyes twinkling and a mischievous smile crooking his lips. He’s got several silver-wrapped bars clutched in one hand triumphantly. When he looks back over his shoulder to stick his tongue out at Denise, Daryl steps in front of his son and waits, bracing himself. Sure enough, the boy is going too fast, and when he turns around to pay attention to where he’s going, the archer watches in satisfaction as his pup’s eyes grow wide and he tries to skid to a stop. He fails, and collides with his father, who is as unmovable as a mountain.

“Got somethin’ you shouldn’t have, pup?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Was just teasin’ her!” the boy protests, flat on his back on the ground, where he’d sprawled after bouncing off of the older wolf. He’s holding onto his chocolate like he’s afraid it’s going to be taken from him. Which it will be. Daryl didn’t raise a litter of thieves.

“Quit’cher teasin’ an’ give it back, then. Now.” When the cub tries to protest, he narrows his eyes and crosses his arms, growling softly. Denise slows to a stop, hovering and fretting as she watches Connor. She wants the chocolate back, because it’s still a pretty rare staple, but Daryl knows she doesn’t like seeing the children reprimanded. At least, not by him. He would never beat his cubs—has never once laid a hand on them like that. He’s a firm believer in “tough love”, though, and so when Connor whines and curls around his prize, the pale wolf growls again and steps forward, showing his teeth slightly. “Conn, give it back.”

“Was gonna,” the boy grumbles, but he gets up and sulks the whole way over to Denise, handing over the candy with his head bowed, properly chastised. Then he sulks the whole way back to his father, standing and scuffing at the ground with a toe. He’s still so young, only five years old, but Daryl knows first-hand that fun little pranks like this can turn into serious problems later on in life if not properly dealt with.

“You gonna apologize, cub?”

“’M sorry,” he mumbles, and the archer scoffs.

“Try again. Don’ think she heard that pitiful excuse fer words.”

“’M sorry,” the cub says louder, looking at Denise. He smells like ozone before a rainstorm, and Daryl’s eyebrow twitches, because he may sound properly remorseful, but he doesn’t smell it at all. The scent of black walnut wood and southern magnolias tickles his nose, but he doesn’t look back when he hears Beth and Caelean approaching slowly from around the side of the house.

“It’s okay, Connor,” Denise promises, smiling at him gently. “I know you’re just having fun. Try to find another way next time though, okay?” She glances at Daryl, and he brushes against her mind, reassuring her that everything is fine. The worry in her eyes eases slightly, her scent sweetening like ripened peaches. Tara’s mate is a good soul, with a big heart. After she walks away, heading back toward the pantry, he clicks his tongue until his disgruntled cub looks at him.

“Ain’t raised a thief,” he growls.

“Was just havin’ fun, papa,” his son whines. Caelean creeps closer, pressing up against his twin and nuzzling him reassuringly, trying to calm him down from whatever state he’s worked himself into. Side-by-side, it’s almost impossible to tell them apart unless you know what to look for. Connor’s jaw is a little crooked, and Caelean’s eyes are a little bigger, but at a glance the cubs are completely identical five-year-old boys. They’ve got Daryl’s dark hair, Rick’s storm-blue eyes, and their short, messy hair is a little wavy.

“Think it’s fun t’ steal from Denise? Would you even’ve given it back?”

“’Course I would’a!”

A quick inhale tells Daryl that at least his son isn’t lying this time, and he nods shortly. “Still, reckon you should pro’lly help yer dad in th’ garden for a week or two. Learn you some responsibility, since lettin’ you run rampant all over th’ community’s just givin’ you excuses to cause trouble.”

“But papa!”

The archer snarls, silencing his pup’s protests quickly. “You wanna misbehave, you gotta accept th’ consequences when ya get caught. Go on, now. Get.” Despite his words, he nuzzles his pup’s mind and coaxes him forward, holding out an arm and picking the boy up as soon as he’s close enough. Connor whines and rubs his cheek against his father’s shoulder, his thoughts a tumble of apologies and promises to behave.

_I know, pup. I know. ‘S hard bein’ cooped up behind th’ walls. Maybe yer dad an’ I can have a talk ‘bout takin’ y’all out an’ gettin’ a proper run in again. Can’t steal though, Conn, even if it was just a prank. We raised you better’n that._

Caelean slots himself under Daryl’s other arm, rubbing his face against his father’s hip and holding onto the hem of his twin’s frayed pants. Beth is still watching, her head tilted curiously. She’s the only one of the cubs with straight hair, which is pulled back into a pretty braid courtesy of Maggie. The color is closer to Rick’s brown-black, and she’s got the alpha’s dark eyes. The only one with eyes closer to Daryl’s blue is Noah. He’s also the only one with curls. He’s with Judith right now, though, the two of them probably weeding Rick’s gardens while their father patrols. Carl is off on a run with Glenn and Tara, and the rest of the pack are scattered about Alexandria.

It’s been five years, and sometimes it feels like it was only yesterday that his worn and weary family walked through the gates of the safe-zone. A lot has happened since then—from the cubs being born, and then Maggie having James a few months later, to massive walker herds that needed to be led away from the community, and even a crazed motherfucker wielding a bat wrapped in barbed wire. They lost Nicholas to him, almost lost Glenn too, but Daryl had ripped that man apart in the end.

Crime is almost non-existent behind the walls of Alexandria, so Rick has taken to gardening again, like he had at the prison. Noah and Judith have been his faithful helpers, and even James has begun showing an interest in tilling the earth and planting lately. He’s a cute kid, sweet like his momma and as wickedly intelligent as his daddy, and the twins adore him.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Daryl murmurs, and then his daughter is there, pressing her chin against his stomach so she can smile up at him. Connor is getting a little too big to be holding with only one arm, so he sets his boy down and turns to head toward the area of the Alexandria safe-zone that they’ve all cleared for the gardens. His cubs trail after him, shoving and jostling one another playfully. If they were wolves, they’d be biting and growling, Beth’s pale coat shining like a beacon between her brothers’ tawny bodies.

“Told ya you was gonna get in trouble,” the girl says smugly, and then she yelps and he hears scuffling, which means Connor has probably pulled on her braid and now she’s trying to trip him or shove him. If anyone ever doubted that the three behind him were his kids, he doubts they would do so for long. There’s way too much Dixon in Connor and Beth, but at the same time, there’s a lot of Grimes in Noah and Caelean, so he figures that evens it all out, all things considered. At least none of them remind him of a young Merle, which can only be a good thing.

Just as he’d thought, Judith and Noah are on their knees in the middle of a patch of carrots, weeding diligently and communicating with looks and soft sounds. The girl’s hair has gotten a little darker, something closer to strawberry blonde, and his son’s mop of unruly curls is a dirty blonde that reminds the archer of his own hair from when he was younger, and then from back at the quarry, when he’d first met Rick.

Two pairs of blue eyes look up at their approach, both of them brightening.

“Papa!” they chorus, scrambling to their feet and coming to hug him and smear dirt all over his clothes. He smiles and hugs them back, not even caring about getting his shirt messy, even though it’s clean for once. Carol will probably throw up her hands in defeat when she sees the dark stains, but she’ll do it fondly, so he’s not too worried.

“Hey there, you two. You seen yer dad around? Gotta talk to him.”

“Was headin’ towards the old folks, last we saw,” Judith replies, already heading back toward the weeds. Noah follows faithfully, her smaller, quiet shadow. She’s tall for almost being eight, and Noah has always been small. He can be fierce, though, when the Wild in him gets too stirred up.

“Kay.” Rounding on the other three cubs, he pins Connor in place with a look. “Might as well get started, pup. Gonna go talk t’ yer dad an’ let him know you’ll be helpin’ out for however long he needs ya.”

“You said a week’re two!”

“Yeah, well, guess that’s for him ta decide, ain’t it? Get pullin’.”

“This is so unfair,” the boy huffs, and Daryl growls softly.

“The fuck you just say?”

Dark blue eyes widen slightly, and Connor hurries toward the peas without another word. He watches the cub go, not at all feeling bad. “Maybe this’ll teach ya a bit’a right from wrong, pup. Seems like you could use a few lessons.”

Some of it is because Connor is already showing signs of being an alpha. He’s headstrong, and he’s got the makings of a good leader if he gets the discipline and grows up right. A bit of his backtalk is because of that, but the rest of it is just because he’s five years old and he wants the world to bend to his whim, and it won’t. His cubs are spoiled by the pack, as well as by him and Rick, but he will not allow them to become entitled little shits. He refuses, and Rick agrees.

Once he’s sure the pup is tending to the weeds, pulling them a bit more forcefully than strictly necessary but taking care not to hurt the vegetables, Daryl nods in satisfaction and glances at Judith. _Gonna be okay?_

 _You know I will be, papa. I’ll show him what to do._ The girl’s eyes are twinkling as she moves to kneel beside the boy, leaving Noah to tend to the carrots. He’s not alone for long, because Caelean crouches down to help him, pressing their shoulders together briefly and sharing a nuzzle.

Beth stays by his side when the archer heads toward the middle of the safe-zone, sniffing quickly to catch his mate’s scent before following it to the source. He glances at his daughter and reaches over to pet her head quickly, being careful not to mess up her braid.

“He really was jus’ playin’, papa,” she says quietly as they walk. The older wolf looks at her, then up at Denise’s porch when Tara calls out. Nodding, he waves at his packmate.

“I know, sunshine, but he should know better. Ain’t raised any of ya t’ be thieves, even if it’s just in play. Grew up ‘round that sort'a trash, an’ there ain’t no good that comes from it. ‘Sides, y’all got a cop for a dad. Should know better.”

Her giggle is as sweet as sugar. “Yeah, we know.”

 

 

 

Rick is talking to Jesse when Daryl finds him. It’s been a long time since seeing the two of them together filled him with fear and insecurity. Besides, Jesse is happily mated to Eugene, of all people, and she’s faithful to the eccentric man. He thinks she hung the moon, and still tends to stutter and get doe-eyed when her focus in solely on him. It’s like teenagers in love.

“Hey, darlin’,” his mate murmurs when Daryl presses up against his side and nuzzles his shoulder. He wants a kiss, but won’t ask for one. Five years has gone a long way towards giving him confidence in a lot of things, but he still shies away from some displays of affection unless Rick initiates. His alpha knows that, and has no problem with leaning in for a kiss, which the archer is happy to return. It’s just a quick brush of lips, nothing to risqué because Beth is watching them and they’re in public, but it’s more than enough to make him rumble contentedly and rock back on his heels to wait for Rick to finish his conversation with Jesse.

“How’re you doing today, Daryl?” the woman asks before she leaves, smiling at him. He gives her a small smile in return, and a quick bob of his head.

“Fine. Gotta talk t’ Rick ‘bout his delinquent son, when he has a moment.”

“What did Connor do now?” the man asks, sighing but smelling too much like fond exasperation to be truly disgruntled.

“Stole a bunch’a chocolate bars from Denise. Caught him runnin’ away an’ made him give ‘em back. Told him his punishment was helpin’ in the garden, an’ that you’d decide for how long.”

“Ah.” Rick frowns hard enough that his forehead wrinkles, looking off toward the direction of his gardens and his cubs. “Was he sorry?”

“Said he was. Sure as hell didn’t smell like it, though. Gave me a bit of attitude for it. Might’a been a bit harsher than I needed t’ be, but I ain’t raisin’ no thieves, Rick. Ain’t gonna have another Merle.”

“He won’t be like that.” His alpha pulls him close, and Daryl only offers a token resistance before letting himself be dragged closer. He dips his head to tuck his nose under the man’s jaw, inhaling deeply and nuzzling at his throat and the week’s worth of beard growth. “You know he won’t be. He’s just a kid, Daryl. Kids do stupid stuff all the time. It doesn’t excuse what he’s done, but he’ll learn his lesson.”

“Fuckin’ better,” the archer grumbles.

“He will. Conn’s a good boy, darlin’. He knows right from wrong. He’ll probably apologize properly when you’re not around to make him.”

“Too much Dixon in that boy,” Daryl huffs, but he’s smiling when he steps back and turns to scoop Beth up into his arms. She shrieks in surprise and delight, clinging to him with thin, strong arms and laughing when he bounces her. “Told th’ pups I’d ask you ‘bout goin’ out for a proper run soon. Betcha some’a their sass is from not gettin’ enough exercise. Not that they ain’t runnin’ the streets every second they can, but after a while you know it gets boring. At least I get to go out with Aaron and find people. They’re stuck here unless we take ‘em out.” _C’mon, alpha, we can make a day of it. Michonne can hold down the fort, an’ you know nothin’ ever happens anyway. Need t’ start teachin’ ‘em to hunt, too. Bet that’ll be good for Conn. Give him somethin’ ta focus on that ain’t mischief._

“I think we can arrange something,” Rick chuckles, his eyes twinkling. He throws an arm around Daryl and their cub, keeping Beth between them and nuzzling against her hair. She croons happily and nuzzles her alpha in return, her little nose getting rubbed red by his scratchy beard.

Daryl kisses the girl’s temple, breathing in her sweet, lemony scent. This sure as fuck isn’t how he’d expected things to turn out all those years ago when he came walking out of the woods to a dead deer, a missing brother, and a human who was all alpha without any of the wolf. His Wild blood stirs at the memory, and in response to the storm-blue eyes that look at him now. They’re filled with so much love that it still overwhelms him sometimes, makes him whine softly and angle his head to press his nose against the hinge of his mate’s jaw and breathe him deep into his lungs.

He has a pack. He has an alpha who is his mate. Rick loves him despite the Dixon name, despite the scars, and at the same time, because of all of that. He was just a no-good Dixon from the mountains of Georgia, too feral by half and determined to hate the world even as he longed for a place in it. The man before him gave him the chance he needed, and helped him along when he stumbled and tried to backtrack. His pack rallied around him, coaxed him along, and gave him every reason to keep trying, even when anyone else would have laid down and chosen to give up. They accepted everything he gave them, and everything he is—his wolf, his temper, his broken trust that they pieced back together with kind words and true love.

 _The Wild runs in me_ , he thinks, tilting his head back to look up at the cloudless blue sky. _It runs in Rick, and our cubs. It runs in our pack. It runs in all of us, and we run through it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already want to write timestamps and sequels of the cubs growing up jfc brain why you do.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wild Skies O'er Yonder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6904573) by [Bennyhatter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter), [Gothams_Only_Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothams_Only_Wolf/pseuds/Gothams_Only_Wolf)




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